Playing Fair
by BlaqkHysteria
Summary: A mysterious woman walks into Sherlock's life. A blessing or a curse?
1. Prologue

Prologue

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><p>The woman walked slowly towards the man sitting in front of her, and sat in his lap. With one hand, she caressed the side of his face, with the other she pointed a gun at his temple.<p>

The man whimpered, but he couldn't move, being tied tightly to the chair.

"I wish I had more time, we'd have some fun…" the woman purred. "But I have two other jobs today, and I hate being late. You understand, right?" she smiled.

The man whimpered again. The woman stood up and pointed the gun between his eyes.

"Bye bye, mate," she smiled again, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p>She was taking a shower when she heard it. The lightest of sounds, but her ears were well trained. Someone walking, on the other side of the house. She listened closely as she got out of the shower, putting a towel around her waist. Instinctively, she took her gun and pointed it right in front of her as she got out of the big bathroom and walked towards the noise.<p>

When she got to the living room, he was sitting in his favorite armchair, a cup of tea in his hand.

"Put the gun down, my love. It's just me," the man said. His eyes shone as his lips clicked together.

"You scared me," she sighed. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a job for you, Helena. It's gonna be fun!" he cheered, smiling his creepy smile.

"I hope so. I'm bored."

"Aw, that's a shame. You won't be bored anymore, I promise. I'm here now!"

"Alright, fine. Tell about this job."

The man stood up and walked around the room as he explained thoroughly what she was going to do. Helena smiled. It sure sounded fun, and it was just her kind of job. When he left, she kept smiling to herself.

But then the phone rang, and she had to leave.  
>When she arrived at Mycroft Holmes' office, she felt like she'd never left it. She was there too often for her liking, but the government paid good money, so who was she to refuse?<p>

"Ah, miss Williams, have a seat," the man greeted her. She sat down in front of him, and observed as he sipped from a glass of whiskey.

"Who am I spanking today?" she smirked. The man gave a half smile.

"His name his James Moriarty. Here's all you need to know about him," Mycroft said, handing her a heavy folder full of documents.

"I know who he is," she smiled, putting the folder down on the table without one more glance at it. "This is gonna cost you more money than usual, mate."

"We're prepared to pay any sum. Just as long as you do your job, miss Williams."

"You're my kind of man, Holmes!"

"I doubt that," he furrowed his brows. "I expect you to be quick, and efficient."

"As usual."

"Good," he said, observing as she went through the files in her hands.

"Alright then, let's get this party started! Bye, Holmes," Helena smiled as she left the man's office.

Things were going as planned. Very good.

.

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><p><strong>My first Sherlock fic! Exciting! This is just the prologue. Tell me what you think, and maybe I'll continue writing! (:<strong>


	2. Game On

_1. Game on_

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><p>Helena took a cab back to her house, and as soon as she got inside, she collapsed on the black leather couch. Her phone rang again.<p>

"Hello?"

"How'd it go, sugar?" the same man who was in her flat that morning asked.

"As planned. What should I do now?"

"Improvise," he said, chuckling darkly. Then, he hung up.

Improvise? She wasn't used to that. Normally, her jobs were much less complicated. There's nothing complicated, really, about being a professional killer. This job was different, of course it was, coming from _him_… then again, maybe she should just consider it a normal job and get it over with.

_Let's play pretend, _she thought as she poured herself a glass of wine. If her calculations were right, and they always were, the game was about to start.

* * *

><p>The next morning, she went back to Mycroft Holmes' office, having been summoned there by one of his secretaries. Her high heels clicked as she paced around the room, smoking and talking.<p>

"Your man's a hard one to find, Holmes. I've been looking all over for him…"

"That's why I called _you_. You're the best."

"I can't work miracles, sugar. Don't you think your little brother could help me?"

"Yes, well-"

Just as he was saying that, the door to the office slammed open, and Sherlock Holmes stood there, a weird hat on his head.

"You called," the younger brother simply said. He took off the hat and threw it in the garbage bin by the door.

"Yes, Sherlock, this is miss Helena Williams," Mycroft said. Helena smiled and held out a hand. Sherlock hesitated, but then he shook it. "Miss Williams is…"

"A professional assassin. You've required her services three to five times, she likes her coffee black and she didn't sleep last night. She's been to Mexico two weeks ago, probably working a job-"

"Enough, Sherlock," Mycroft said, annoyed.

"You're my case," Sherlock ignored him. "I'm investigating your murders, aren't I?"

"You are," the woman smiled. "But that's not why you're here."

"No, it's not." Mycroft interjected. "You'll drop the case you're currently on, Sherlock. Instead, you're going to help the lady out."

"Help her?"

"Your brother hired me to kill a friend of yours… James Moriarty?"

At the sound of that name, Sherlock turned around immediately to face the woman. She was smiling a crooked smile, then she brought the cigarette to her mouth and inhaled deeply. Sherlock fought the urge to bump one, and instead he just chuckled darkly.

"You're never going to accomplish that," he said.

"We'll see. Maybe you could help me. Don't you want him dead?" she asked, a little smirk on her delicate features. Sherlock didn't like the way she looked at him, like he was a little boy throwing a fit.

"That's not playing fair," he murmured. "This is a game, Mycroft. I don't want to cheat."

"He never plays fair, why should you?" Helena asked. Sherlock's stare went back to her. That little smirk was still on her face, and it annoyed him. He lowered his eyes and sighed.

"Because I'm not like him."

"Aren't you?" she asked. Her smirk gave way to a bored smile, which annoyed the younger Holmes even more.

He didn't answer her, mostly because he didn't know what to say. That didn't happen often, and it confused him. This woman confused him. Though he could read her just like he read everyone else, he had the feeling he was missing something, it felt like a piece of the puzzle wasn't there. Intriguing.

"Where should we start?" he asked her, finally accepting to work with her.

"Tell me everything."


	3. Suspicion

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><p><em>2 – Suspicion<em>

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><p>Helena gracefully sat down on the armchair in the dim lit apartment at 221 Baker Street, while Sherlock Holmes eyed her suspiciously from the other side of the room. Watson sat on the other armchair, kind of taken aback by the beautiful woman in front of him. She was indeed stunning, and Sherlock had noticed it too. By all canons of modern beauty, she was perfect. Her long red curls and her pale green eyes were the first things he noticed, followed soon by the perfect features of her face and her amazing body.<br>Anyhow, beautiful or not, it didn't matter to him. Just because his brother trusted her, didn't mean he was to do so, too.

Helena lit her thousandth cigarette and stared at the detective as he stared at her.

"Now what, stare at each other for the rest of eternity?" she asked, smiling kindly. There was something about that smile that he found incredibly interesting. Behind that smile, he could see all the lives she'd taken and how much she'd liked it.

Doctor Watson gave a low chuckle and turned to Sherlock, waiting on his reply to the woman's question.

"No," the man said, looking away from her and out the window, "Now we find Moriarty. Do you have any leads?" he asked.

"I've been looking, but the man seems to know how to hide. I thought you might know how to… draw him out."

"So that's it, then. You want to use me as bait," he remarked, not at all surprised.

"Basically, yes."

"Okay," he simply answered, nodding to himself.

"Okay?" exclaimed Watson, "It's not okay! It's too dangerous, Sherlock, you might… what?" he stopped, noticing the look of amusement on Helena's face.

"He's adorable," she purred at Sherlock, who furrowed his brows.

"This is not a good idea, Sherlock," Watson then continued, ignoring Helena's remark.

"We don't have another choice, John," the man lied. They had plenty of choices, actually, but he chose to let miss Williams believe he was going to play by her rules.

Something about the woman arose suspicion, in his opinion. Of course John couldn't see behind her beauty, being too stunned by it, but Sherlock could, and he wasn't going to give her his trust. For the moment.

"I'll keep an eye on you, then," Helena stated, standing up. John walked her to the door and shook her hand, while Sherlock just stared out the window, deep in thought.

Helena went home, not really sure what she had accomplished that day. Her phone went off as she slid off her coat. A text, three words.

"_Wait for me"._

* * *

><p>And so she waited, and while she waited she kept an eye on Sherlock and the good Doctor Watson, occasionally visiting them, getting closer and closer to both of them. She discovered Watson was a great chess player, and while they played Sherlock played the violin, his eyes never leaving the woman. He never gave her too much attention when he thought she could see him, but as soon as she turned around he started observing her closely, fascinated.<br>And though he had had time to examine every inch of her, something still escaped him.

So weeks passed and nothing happened, until that very day. She was making her way to Baker Street, when a loud explosion made her come to a halt in the middle of the street. The building across the street from 221B had blown up.

She smiled to herself. _Finally._

Running, she reached 221B and went up the stairs. Sherlock was lying on the floor, and she helped him up. He was smiling, too.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he replied, still smiling. She helped him cover the broken windows with curtains, then made herself a cup of tea as he struck the chords of his violin, peacefully sitting in his armchair.

"Most people would be in shock," Helena remarked. "Then again, you're not most people," she said, and he nodded, without uttering a single word.

Somehow, being alone with her made him uncomfortable, and he couldn't understand why. Thankfully, in that very moment Mycroft walked in the door. He greeted the woman gracefully and sat down in front of his brother.

The elder Holmes wanted the younger to take some case, and Sherlock was refusing categorically, claiming he was too busy at the moment.

Then doctor Watson walked in, his face tense with worry.

"John," said Sherlock.

"I saw it on the telly, are you okay?" the doctor asked.

"What? Oh, yes, fine. Gas leak, apparently," he answered, then turned to Mycroft again. "I can't."

"Can't," Mycroft repeated.

"What I've got now is just too big, I can't spare the time."

"This is of national importance. Perhaps you can get through to him, John. I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

From the kitchen, Helena chuckled. She listened to their conversation, which she found too boring to care to join it. Then Mycroft stood up and handed a folder to Sherlock, when he saw he wouldn't take it, he handed it to John instead, and proceeded to explain the case. Still boring, Helena thought.

When Mycroft left, she went back into the living room.

"Why'd you lie?" the doctor asked Sherlock. "You've got nothing on. Not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding, why did you tell your brother you were busy?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Sherlock answered, looking pretty bored himself.

"Oh," John sighed. "Nice. Sibling rivalry, now we're getting somewhere."

Then, Sherlock's phone rang. "Sherlock Holmes," he answered. "Of course, how could I refuse," he said, then hung up. "Lestrade. I'm being summoned. Coming?" he said then to John.

"May I come too?" Helena smirked. Sherlock shrugged, and she took it as a yes.

When they got to the station, Lestrade explained how the explosion wasn't a gas leak. The only thing left of the building was a strongbox, and inside of it was an envelope addressed to Sherlock Holmes. The detective opened the envelope, and inside he found a cellphone. A pink cellphone, looking remarkably like one from a previous case of his, or so Helena thought. She read John's blog, just like everyone else.

"It isn't the same phone," Sherlock stated after a careful examination. "This one's brand new. Someone's gone through a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone."

He then clicked on the screen, and the phone went "You have one new message."

The message consisted of five beeps and a picture of a basement.

Sherlock explained it was a warning, a warning that it was gonna happen again.

"What's gonna happen again?" Helena asked.

"Boom!" the detective answered, holding is hands in the hair, mimicking an explosion.

Helena followed them back to 221B, but then left to go investigate on her own. Obviously Holmes thought it was Moriarty, and she thought so too. Since he was her job, it was only natural for her to want to find him fast.

On the way home, in a cab, she received another text.

_"It's started."_


	4. Indulgence

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* * *

><p><em>3. Indulgence<em>

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><p>"My job is not to keep your brother safe, Mycroft!" Helena exclaimed, stomping her feet in the elder Holmes' office.<p>

"It's been a month, Helena, and you've accomplished nothing."

"I will find him," she stated. "He's messing with your dear Sherlock as we speak."

"Then stop him!"

"I will," the woman remarked, and slammed the door on her way out.

She wished she knew what the big picture was here, instead of running around blindfolded. But these things take time, like _he_ always said. She'd have to wait and see. In the meantime, she went back to Baker Street. The night was cold and damp, as she walked through the city.

"I cannot believe your brother," she said, as she entered the room. Sherlock gave a nod as he struck the chords of his violin by the window.

"Neither can I, most of the time."

"What did he do?" asked John.

"He threatened to fire me! It's not my fault that bastard knows how to hide!" she yelled.

"We've all had a stressful day, let's just have a cup of tea and forget about it," ventured the doctor, nodding to himself.

"I know where he'll be," said Sherlock suddenly. The woman turned around and faced him, her eyes glistening.

"You do?" asked John.

"He's going to be at the pool at midnight."

"How do you know?" asked Helena, hope sprinkling inside of her.

"I just do," Sherlock concluded solemnly. He had no idea why he was sharing this with her, it was his game after all, it was private. Then why was he telling this woman about it? She smiled at him and suddenly he understood.

But that couldn't be true.

"John, you can't come," he said then.

"What? Why not?"

"It's dangerous, sweetie," said Helena. "Wouldn't want you to get shot again!"

"I'm coming, Sherlock."

"No, you're not," the detective said, in a resolute tone.

"I'll just get my stuff and meet you there, Holmesy," Helena said then, and left. She went back to her flat and took a sniper rifle and two guns. She put the rifle in a bag and headed out, to the pool.

What was she going to do? This wasn't scripted, if anything was. "Improvise," she thought, just like he had told her.

Okay then.

She took a cab to go to the pool, and when she got there she ran up the stairs to the second floor, positioning herself on the balcony overlooking the actual pool.

Sherlock was there, and he was alone.

In a second, a door opened, and John appeared. He was wearing a coat twice his size, and soon it was discovered why. He had enough explosive on him to blow up the whole building. On his chest, a little red light that indicated someone had him on lock on.

Helena couldn't make out what they were saying, but Sherlock's face said it all. She saw someone in the dark, on the other side of the room. The shadow winked at her.

"Who are you?" asked Sherlock, looking around the wide room.

"I gave you my number, I thought you might call…" the shadow said. Helena smiled to herself, and pointed her sniper rifle right in the middle of the man's eyes. But Sherlock was in the way. They had a brief conversation, then the man, who had introduced himself as Jim Moriarty, looked up at her.

"You can come down now, lovely," Moriarty said. She furrowed her brows. Was he talking to her? He sure was looking her way, but he couldn't see her, could he?

"Yes, you, come down," he repeated, and Helena noticed a little red dot on her chest. _Shit._

She made her way to the stairs, and went down to the pool. Sherlock sighed when she entered the room, obviously disappointed. He thought she might have killed him. He thought she might have been the one to finally end this.

"Put the rifle down," Moriarty intimated. Helena did as she was told, then kicked the rifle, which fell into the pool. "Good girl! Cookie for you."

"People have died," Sherlock said, getting the conversation back on track.

"That's what people _do!_" Moriarty yelled.

"I will stop you."

"No, you won't," the man cheered. Helena moved to stand next to Sherlock, and suddenly Moriarty's glance was on her.

"You made a new friend?" he asked Sherlock. "She's quite the charmer…"

"Leave her alone," Sherlock found himself saying.

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much," Helena snorted. Moriarty smiled at her.

"I—I was just…" Sherlock stuttered. "Never mind. This is what you want," he then addressed Moriarty again. "Take it," he said, and handed him an usb pen.

"Ah," Moriarty sighed. He brought the pen at his lips and gave it a kiss, then smiled. "Boring!" he cheered, and proceeded to throw the pen into the pool. "Well, I better be off. So nice to have a proper chat," he smiled evilly. "Au revoir, sweetheart," he said to Helena, and kissed her hand charmingly. The woman didn't respond to the gesture in any way. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes," he said, and left.

Sherlock, who had been pointing a gun at him this whole time, put the gun down and rushed at John's side.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Sherlock," he answered, as the detective took off his coat and hence the explosive.

Helena sighed. "I'm going after him," she stated.

"You're going to do no such thing," Sherlock said.

"Why not? It's my job, Holmes," she smiled. "I can take care of myself."

With that, she left too. She ran out in the street, only to find Moriarty leaning on a black limousine, with a bored expression on his face.

"Ellie! You're doing great," he said.

"What exactly am I doing, Jim?"

"You'll know soon enough, my love. Now come here, give us a kiss," he smiled widely. The woman returned the smile and approached him. She threw her arms around his neck in a very cinematic manner, and he kissed her passionately.

"I should go back," she said then. "Hit me," she demanded. The man looked at her in confusion, and raised a single brow.

"I'm not going to hit you, baby doll."

"Don't be a sissy, Jim. Hit me!"

The man hesitated for a second, then shrugged and punched the woman right in the face. Helena didn't make a sound, she didn't even complain about the pain. God knows that wasn't the first punch she'd taken in her life.

"Thanks," she half smiled, but then cringed a little at the pain.

"My _god_. You're insane, Ellie," the man remarked, not really looking surprised. "I love you," he sighed.

"Love you too," she said. After placing a quick kiss on his lips, she went back inside.


	5. Mr Brightside

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* * *

><p>4 – Mr. Brightside<p>

* * *

><p>"Helena!" John called when he saw her. Her left cheekbone was bleeding, and her eye was starting to swell.<p>

"I—I'm fine," she said, while she carried herself over to them. She stumbled and fell down on the floor like deadweight.

Sherlock rushed to her side and helped her up.

"Hey, are you okay? What happened?" he asked.

"There were two—two men…" she stuttered, in Sherlock's arms.

"Moriarty's men?"

"Possibly, yes…" she whispered, then fainted. Of course, she hadn't really fainted, she was just faking it. Sherlock carried her to a cab, then climbed in it with John, and headed back to 221B. When they got inside the house, Sherlock put Helena down on the couch and sat across from her, staring at her with his hands united under his chin.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" asked John.

"Sure. Although, she's a killer… shouldn't she be tougher than this?"

"She was beaten up by two men, Sherlock!"

"Mmh," the detective nodded to himself, not really convinced. Something was off about that whole thing, but, as usual with things that concerned Helena, he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

She tossed and turned on the couch, then woke up all of a sudden and sat up on the couch, looking disoriented and confused.

"Helena, how are you feeling?" the good doctor asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Better," she murmured, as Watson started to medicate her cheekbone. Sherlock observed quietly, trying to focus on John's skilled hands, instead of looking at Helena's bright green eyes.

When John was finished he stated that Helena'd better spend the night there, then left the room to get some sheets and a quilt to make her a bed on the couch.

"Nonsense. I'm fine, I'll go home," she complained, moving to stand up. But she fell back down on the couch, holding her head in her hands, and cursed under her breath.

"You're obviously shaken," said Sherlock, observing her carefully. "You should stay," he continued. He wanted to keep an eye on her, and what better way than to have her sleep over?

"I'm usually the one who does the beating," she murmured. "This is most unusual…"

"I'm sure."

"They came out of nowhere, and—" she fell silent, shaking her head in embarrassment. Sherlock felt something break inside of him in seeing the woman so helpless. She'd always been tough and brave, and now she was lying on his couch like a puppy who'd been under the rain.  
>But he was digressing. No time to think about those silly things, he had to stop Moriarty before he hit again.<p>

Helena let her head fall back on the couch, exposing her neck. Sherlock tried to look away, but he was hypnotized. What intrigued him so much about that woman? He couldn't understand. Maybe it was the way she talked, like she couldn't care less about anything, or maybe it was the way she looked at him, like he was the only thing she could see.

"What are you staring at?" she asked, breaking his train of thought.

"Uh? No—nothing, really, um—" he stuttered. Helena smiled, and he lowered his eyes. She made him uncomfortable, and that was most unusual.

"Here," said John, entering the room once again. He was carrying some blankets and a pillow. Helena stood up, pretending to be barely able to stand straight, and let the doctor make her bed. Sherlock observed everything closely, but avoided looking at the woman.

"Thank you, John," Helena said, smiling kindly at Watson. "You really didn't have to."

"Of course I did!" he smiled back. "Well, goodnight then!"

"Goodnight," Helena answered, and watched the doctor disappear into his room. Sherlock didn't move.

"Do you mind if I stay here? I need to think," he asked.

"Suit yourself," she smiled, and lay down on the couch, giving her back to the detective.

He put his hands together under his chin and looked at her. She was an enigma, a big interrogation point, but somehow he was starting to get used to her presence, and to notice when she wasn't around.

He didn't even notice the dawn breaking, he hadn't moved an inch all night.

Finally, John woke up and went into the room, to find Sherlock shaking his head dismissively.

"You sat there all night?" asked the doctor, yawning.

"Apparently."

"I'll make coffee. You should wake her up."

Sherlock nodded, and approached the woman, who was still sound asleep. He shook her gently, not really keen on touching her too much.

"Helena?" he called. "Helena."

"Mmmh," the woman mumbled, stretching. Sherlock immediately moved away from her. "Good morning," she yawned.

"Morning," he answered. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you," she smiled weakly, still half asleep. They had coffee together, then Helena made up an excuse to leave, and ran out in a hurry.

When she got to her house, she took the longest of showers. She tried to wash off the feeling of guilt she was having, but couldn't. This wasn't her fight, it wasn't her _game_. So why was she playing along?

Stupid questions. Of course she played, as long as _he_ wanted her to. She'd do anything for him.

"Daddy's home!" Moriarty cheered, stomping through the front door.

"Shower!" she called out. The man smiled widely and trotted to the bathroom, then leaned on the shower door.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Get in here, we'll talk later," she said, opening the door and grabbing his tie. Moriarty smiled a crooked smile and carefully took off his three piece suit, then joined the woman under the scorching water.

* * *

><p>"So, how are things?" he asked, straightening his tie.<p>

"What things?" she remarked. "Sherlock things?"

"Mostly, yes."

"Good. He seems to be… _into_ me."

"That was the plan," he said bitterly.

"Are you…?" she ventured, but his stare made her stop mid-sentence. "Oh," she smiled. " You're jealous!"

"Of course not. It's all good business," Moriarty snorted. Helena smiled wider, and sat down in his lap.

"You're adorable. An adorable evil mastermind," she purred, and trailed kissed down his neck.

"Shut up."


	6. Doubts

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><p>5 – Doubts<p>

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><p>Helena woke up late to the sound of someone knocking on her door, which was unusual. The only person who knew where she lives had a spare key, so who was knocking?<p>

She got up and put on her dressing gown, then headed for the door. She unlocked it, and proceeded to open it slowly.

Sherlock stood there. Still half asleep, Helena furrowed her brows.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she asked. "No, wait, how did you _find _me?"

"Your purse suggested you live in this part of town, I narrowed it down by looking at the heels of your shoes. It was quite easy, actually."

"Forget I asked. Back to the first question: what are you doing here?"  
>"I wanted to talk to you, you haven't been around lately."<p>

"Your brother fired me," she simply remarked, letting him in. They sat down in the kitchen, and continued talking as she made some coffee.

"I know that," Sherlock replied dryly, observing her.

"So why did you expect me to come around anyway?" she asked. Sherlock looked taken aback.

"I—I assumed…"

"I was going to come visit you in the afternoon," she interrupted him. "You beat me on time," she smiled. Sherlock gave a half smile, but didn't say anything.

"Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?" she asked then. Sherlock was about to answer, but her phone went off. She got it, and looked at the text she's received. _"Careful, I'm watching. xo."_

"I'm sorry, you were saying?" she said, smiling.

"You stopped looking for him, just because Mycroft fired you?"

"What do you think?" she smirked.

"Any luck?" he asked.

"Not yet. I interrogated a few of his men, got my hands on the ones who beat me up…"

"And?"

"They didn't survive. But they told me something," she said, lighting up.

"What did they say?" asked Sherlock, watching as she sipped from her coffee cup.

"They said you should be prepared for the fall."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I have no idea, I thought you might know…"

"I don't."

That being said, he stood up and paced around the room, while Helena calmly drank her coffee. What did that mean? What fall? If that was the only thing they said, that meant they'd been instructed to say so. Moriarty wanted him to know. But why? To scare him? It took more than that to scare Sherlock Holmes.

"I have to go," he suddenly said, and left in a hurry. Helena didn't even have the time to say goodbye. Not that she cared.

Her phone rang, and she smiled, recognizing the number.

"Hello, love," she said.

"What was _that_ about?"

"He wanted to know if I found you yet," she chuckled. "Where are you?"

"In a very undisclosed location."

"You're next door having tea with Mrs. Bolen, aren't you?"

"_Undisclosed_, Helena" he repeated, but he could hear a smile in his voice.

"Alright, alright. I have nothing to do today, so maybe…?"

"I'll come over tonight, I have work to do now."

"Okay," she snorted. "Have fun."

"I will," he smirked, then he hung up.

Helena put the phone down on the table and went into the living room to lie down on the couch. She was a little bit… jealous. Jim was giving all this attention to Holmes, and though she understood why, somehow she couldn't make sense of it. Jim was easily bored, yes, but that was going a bit too far, wasn't it? She missed the days when it was only the two of them taking on the world. And it still was, in a way. But now Jim was more interested in that single human being than he was in her, and that made her want to take her gun and empty it in his face.

She could call the whole thing off, since she had such a big part in it. No, actually, she couldn't. Jim would hate her, and she couldn't live with that. Still, she kind of hated him for putting her aside. She felt like a broken toy who'd been replaced by a new one, and that hurt. A lot.


	7. Targets

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* * *

><p>6 – Targets<p>

* * *

><p>Helena's day was filled with wine and boredom. She watched old movies and played videogames, but couldn't keep her mind off Sherlock.<p>

He was indeed interesting, she could see why Jim would think so. What she couldn't see was Jim's angle in this, was it just fun? Was he that bored? Or maybe he was just bored _of her._

Sherlock had a way of making himself interesting, she'd noticed. He was the kind of man who made himself desirable. Of course, she didn't find him attractive, it was just her job to pretend she did. Sometimes she wondered how far she'd have to go for Jim's plan to work.

Then she heard the door opening, and she sprung to her feet, glad that he was finally there.

"Helena?" a voice called from the hall, and it wasn't the voice she was expecting.

"Moran?" she asked, surprised. She went to the door and stared at the man in confusion. He was taller than her, with bright black eyes and brownish hair. His tie was undone and he looked like hell.

"What happened?" she asked. They couldn't stand each other, so if he was there that meant something was awfully wrong.

"Holmes' men, they got James," he said, lowering his eyes. Helena gave him a dirty look, and for a second he was almost scared she would hit him.

"That's impossible," she shrugged.

"I—"  
>"He let them take him. No other explanation," she interrupted him, staring blankly at the floor. It was the only explanation for the events, Mycroft would have never gotten to Jim if he didn't want him to. But what was the purpose? And why hadn't he told her anything?<p>

"That's what I thought," Moran said, distracting her from her thoughts. "Should we try to—"

"No. He can take care of himself."

"Then what do we do? Did he leave any orders?"

"Not a word. Go back where you came from, Moran, and wait. I'll let you know if I hear anything."

"But—"

"Out. Now."

"Fine. Goodnight," the man dryly replied, and left slamming the door.

Helena leaned on the door and slid all the way down to the floor. Yet another thing Jim hadn't told her about. The list was beginning to get too long for her liking. What was she supposed to do now? Nothing, really, she would just wait. He was going to come back to her at some point, he always did.

She sprung to her feet and took her coat, then ran out of the apartment. She hailed a cab and went to Baker Street, not sure why she was going there.

Mrs. Hudson let her in.

"Dear, why are you crying?" the woman asked her, and Helena turned to the mirror on the wall. She was crying. She hadn't noticed.

"I'm fine, there's something in my eye," she said dismissively, and ran up the stairs, wiping the tears from her face with her hand.  
>Sherlock was by the window playing the violin, while John sat on the armchair and lazily read a book. When she entered the room Sherlock saw her and hit a weird note. John looked up at him, then realized Helena was there.<p>

"Helena, hi!" he greeted her, standing up.

"Hello," said Sherlock.

"Hey," she said, holding back the tears that still burnt in her eyes. "So how about dinner?"

"Sounds good," John promptly said, smiling kindly. Sherlock nodded, and they followed the woman outside, to a diner around the corner. Helena ate in silence, ignoring John's attempts at conversation, and Sherlock spent the meal observing her.

"You've been crying," he finally said, as they walked back to 221B.

"Where'd you get that?" she asked. His lack of tact always surprised her, even though she should have been used to it by now.

"Your eyes are red, cheeks flushed, you never met our eyes during dinner, and frankly, you look quite miserable."

"I'm fine," she answered, realizing only then that that was Sherlock's way of asking if she were alright.

"But you're not," he remarked, looking sad himself.

"I'm going to be okay," she said, waiting for John to open the door in front of her. Sherlock blocked her way, resting his hand on the wall beside her, his face only mere inches from hers.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I said I'm fine."

"Well, you're lying."

"That's none of your bloody business!" she hissed, and grabbed his arm. She twisted it and sprung him around until he was pinned to the wall, his arm locked in her hands. "Are we clear?"

"Helena!" John complained, knitting his brows. The woman snorted and let go of Sherlock, who gathered himself and adjusted his coat before following Watson inside. When they got upstairs he picked up his violin and started playing some sad melody.

"How can you _live_ with him?" Helena asked John as she helped him make tea in the small kitchen.

"That's a good question," he answered, giving a quick glance at Sherlock.

They had tea in silence, and Sherlock observed Helena closely, as usual. What was the matter with her? She looked so heartbroken. Maybe there was a man? The thought made him cringe, for some reason. When she left, he felt relieved. He couldn't stand her bright eyes and perfect figure any longer.  
>Helena hopped on a cab and went back to her empty apartment. Only it wasn't empty.<p>

Two men, who looked a lot like bodyguards, stood in her living room. They were examining everything, from her dvd collection to the empty cup she had left on the coffee table.  
>Instinctively, she pulled her gun.<p>

"Who are you?" she asked.

"No need for firearms, ma'am. Mr. Holmes wants to see you," the tallest of the two said, with a bitter smile. "Come with us."

Helena put her gun back in its case, and reluctantly followed the men outside. A black car was waiting downstairs, they got in and drove away in a hurry.

"What's this about?" she asked. Neither of the men answered. "You know, Mycroft could have just phoned me," she complained. Again, no answer.

The car came to a sudden stop, and they got off. They entered a tall building, just outside the city, and the men guided her through a maze of corridors and doors. Finally, they got to their destination, an interrogation room, with a mirror glass wall.  
>On the other side of the mirror was Jim. He was tied up to a chair, and looked like he'd been beaten. Helena's heart sank at that sight.<p>

Mycroft appeared out of nowhere behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder.

"See? We got him," he proudly announced.

"Good for you. Did you take me here just to gloat?"

"He isn't talking. He opens up a little when I step inside, but doesn't say anything useful."

"Of course."

"I may require your services once again. I hear you're quite great at _torture_."


	8. Love

.

* * *

><p>7 – Love<p>

* * *

><p>"I'm not that good, really," Helena smiled weakly. It was a blatant lie, and Mycroft knew it.<p>

"Get in there, now. Or would you rather be arrested?"

"Arrested? You can't arrest me, you ain't got evidence."

"But do you think going on trial would be good for your business?"

Helena sighed. Survival came first, she always said. But did it come first in this case? She'd take a bullet for Jim. Hell, she had taken some bullets for him.

But what if this was still part of the plan?

"Open the door," she commanded, and Mycroft let her through. Jim lit up when he saw her, and gave one of his creepy smiles. His eyes were two black pools of madness, and her heart sank once again.

On her left was a desk, and on it everything she'd need to tortured someone. She turned around without saying a word and blankly stared into the mirror glass. On the other side of it, Mycroft smiled.

She took a knife and turned her back to the mirror, facing Jim.

"Oh, I'm scared," he mocked her.

"You will be," she remarked. She walked towards him and sat in his lap. Jim almost leapt up to kiss her, but then remembered this wasn't one of their sex games.

"Why don't you just talk, and save us all the trouble?" she purred.

"Piss off, doll," he smirked. Helena traced his jaw with her knife, then slowly pressed the blade down and cut his cheek. The man cringed under her, but she kept a straight face.

"Talk," she commanded, "or I start cutting up things that you're gonna miss, trust me."

On the other side of the mirror, Mycroft cringed too. "I don't need to see this," he said, and left the room.

Helena went back to the desk and put the knife down, replacing it with a slice bar, which she made incandescent with her Zippo lighter. She took a sip from the bottle of scotch that stood next to the biggest scissors she'd ever seen, then went back to Jim.

Without a word, she poked him in the chest, and the man screamed. She continued poking him, everywhere, without saying anything. At last, she let the slice bar fall down on the floor, and grabbed Jim's shirt, pulling him towards her.

"Fancy a chat?" she asked.

"Screw you," he remarked. She slapped him. Again and again and again. Then she gave him the beating of his life, but he never said a word. The man laughed at her vain attempts, though pretty soon he was coughing up blood.

She wanted to stop. She wanted to run away and go cry in a corner, she wanted to scream and she wanted to take a long shower. But she couldn't do any of those things.

Instead, she spent the entire night, and the day after, hitting him, cutting him, burning him, screaming at him. In the evening, Mycroft came back, and asked her to step out of the room. She joined him behind the mirror glass, and he put his hands on her shoulders.

"You look exhausted," he said patronizingly.

"I am," she snorted.

"He's not talking, I presume."

"Not a word."

"Then you're free to go," Mycroft said, much to Helena's surprise. "You were my last hope."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."  
>Mycroft nodded, and let the two bodyguards who had taken her there take her away. They got into the same car as the night before, and got her home.<p>

As soon as she entered her flat, she fell to her knees, shaking. Then the crying started. She was surprised she hadn't started sobbing in the back of the black car.

She didn't move for hours, and in the end she was curled up on the floor, crying in hysteria. She cried away the tension, the pressure, and the pain.

Finally, she found the strength to get up from the floor, and dragged her weak body to the kitchen, where she made tea. She lit a cigarette and waited for the water to boil, waited for the tears to stop.

She felt so empty inside, so drained. She knew Jim wouldn't be mad, in fact she was expecting him to be quite turned on, but somehow the whole situation made her want to throw up.  
>There was a knock on the door, but she almost didn't notice. The knock got louder, and she snapped out of her thoughts. Weakly, she dragged herself to the door. She opened it to find Sherlock standing there, a blank look on his face.<p>

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" he said, letting himself in.

"Why—why is that?" she asked, closing the door behind him.

"You weren't home, you weren't answering your phone…"

"So?"

"So I thought something might have happened to you."

"I was just… working, Sherlock."

"Let's see. Your right wrist says you've been beating someone, your eyes say you've been crying. A lot. Your clothes tell me you haven't changed in two days, but I don't see anything that indicates you've been using firearms. So maybe you strangled your target. No, your hands say you haven't. Maybe you broke his neck, or better yet you beat him to death. Okay, fine, you've been working."

"Told you."

"But why have you been crying?"

"Now _that_ is none of your business," she stated, going to the kitchen. Sherlock followed her silently. She sipped her tea and gestured for Sherlock to sit down. The detective politely declined the offer.

"I thought we were… friends," he said, emphasizing the last word. He looked frustrated.

"We kind of are," she said, trying to smile. She failed.

"Then why won't you tell me what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely confused. He didn't understand why Helena wouldn't talk to him. It made him angry. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her, and she never told him anything.

Helena wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, and put the cup down. Sherlock looked at her questioningly. She approached him slowly, until her face was only inches from hers.

"Why do you want to know?" she whispered.

"Why—I… Because I care," he stuttered.

Helena smiled weakly. In a second, she closed the distance between them and placed a burning kiss on his lips. She thought Sherlock would back away, but he didn't. She backed away instead.

Even at that awful time, she couldn't help but follow Jim's plan step by step.

"That's for caring," she smiled again. "Now off you go," she said, and pointed at the door.

"You didn't tell me anything," he complained. She smiled, and walked him to the front door. "Helena, I-"

"Go. Now," she interrupted him. The detective reluctantly walked away, down the stairs and in the street. She stared at him through the window until he got into a cab and disappeared in the city. Helena then collapsed on the couch, exhausted. She fell asleep immediately, and slept all through the night. Too exhausted to even dream.


	9. Mad

.

* * *

><p><em>8 – Mad<em>

* * *

><p>Helena didn't notice the man coming through the front door, didn't notice when he sat beside her on the couch, didn't notice when he ran his fingers through her hair. She was sound asleep, and the man didn't want to wake her up just yet. He caressed the side of her face, and she leaned into the touch, then rolled over and gave her back to him.<p>

The man shook his head and went to make some coffee. When it was ready, he went back into the living room and gently woke her up.

"Jim?" she asked, still half asleep.

"Hi, love," he smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Helena didn't answer. She leapt up and hugged him tight. Jim was a little taken aback by that gesture, they'd never hugged like that before. He stiffened for a second, then relaxed and let her hold him.

"Are you okay, sugar?" he asked.

"I will be. How are you?" she replied, concerned. She stared at his face, bruised and cut up, and couldn't help but shiver. He looked so tired.

"I'm good, no worries."

"But I-"

"You did what you had to," he said. "I'm proud of you."

"You shouldn't be."

"Why not? Everything goes according to plan, my love. That was just a bump in the road, but we made the most of it!" he smiled his creepy smile, and handed her a cup of coffee.

"I love you so much it physically hurts me, Jim," she sighed.

"I know."

Helena drank her coffee, without uttering another word. She looked up at the man sitting next to her, and wondered if he even loved her at all. Love wasn't supposed to make people this miserable, was it? But maybe it was just their kind of love, sick and twisted and passionate. Or maybe not?

"You look tired, Jim," she said.

"I didn't sleep. I had work to do," he dryly answered.

"Of course," she sighed. "Sherlock was here yesterday," she casually said.

"Was he? What did he want?"

"He was worried about me," she chuckled mockingly. "I kissed him," she smirked, waiting on Jim's outburst of jealousy.

"You did _what_?"

"But that's what you wanted, wasn't it? The big plan..."

"I never said—" he started yelling, but then stopped. "You're mine, Helena, understand?" he hissed, grabbing her arm firmly. The look in his eyes was of pure madness, and Helena almost got scared.

"Of course I am," she whispered. Jim pulled her close to him, making her spill the coffee, and kissed her. Helena gave in to him, and let the cup fall from her hands and to the floor.

* * *

><p>Eventually, Jim left, like he always did. He muttered some nonsense about having work to do and left her alone once again.<p>

Helena watched him leave and gave the saddest of smiles. If he just stopped hunting Sherlock down, _maybe_ they could be happy. But that was never going to happen, he was never going to stop.

She was 20 when they met, almost ten years had passed. He found her in a bar in the suburbs, lap dancing to pay for law school. That night, everyone in the bar died. Moran had his fun, but Jim stopped him from killing Helena too. She got into his car that night, and never left his side ever since. He made her into who she was today, and she was thankful. She didn't really care about the money and the power, as long as she had him.

The days passed, and Jim never even sent a text. She casually dropped by Baker Street every other day, to see how things were going. Sherlock always looked embarrassed when she was in the room, she could have sworn she even saw him blush a couple of times.

"Okay, what's happening?" asked John, noticing the looks Helena and Sherlock were exchanging.

"What do you mean?" remarked Sherlock. Taking his eyes of Helena to look at John proved to be a challenge.

"Between you two. What's going on?" he said. Hadn't Helena known better, she'd say he sounded almost… jealous.

"Nothing's going on," Sherlock spat out, turning his stare back to the woman. "Right?"

"Right. It's nothing, John, really," she assured him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever," the doctor sighed, and left to room to get tea ready.

"Is it nothing, Sherlock?" Helena asked, smiling widely. "You do seem a little… flustered."

"Flus—no," the detective stuttered. "It's nothing."

"Good," she smiled again. Sherlock nodded, and didn't say another word.

John came back in the room and placed the tray on the coffee table, and they drank tea in silence. When they were done, Helena politely said goodbye and left the house with a smile on her face. _Someone better give me a bloody Oscar, _she thought.


	10. Phase 2

.

* * *

><p><em>9 – Phase 2<em>

* * *

><p>For someone who's been trained by the best assassin in the world, it was quite boring to stay away from the action. All she had to do was watch silently and have Sherlock fall for her. Boring.<p>

Until she got a text. _"Phase 2, doll."_

Helena smiled at her phone and grabbed her coat, ready to head to Baker Street and commence phase 2. Phase 2 was way more fun than phase 1, but not as much fun as phase 3…

When she got to 221B, John greeted her warmly as usual, while Sherlock ignored her and continued playing his violin. Helena made the best sad face she could, and asked to speak with Sherlock alone.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, studying her. The woman looked worried, her clothes said she hadn't slept, and again her eyes looked like she'd been crying. Although she hadn't, it was all an act, but Sherlock couldn't see that. He was too busy wondering what could made those beautiful eyes cry.

"I… I need to tell you something," she stuttered, but then broke down crying. She ran into his arms, and Sherlock didn't know what to do. He didn't like the idea of holding her, but what else could he do?

"Helena," he said calmly, "What's wrong?" he asked, pushing her away from him with his hands on her shoulders, enough to look at her.

"I can't do this anymore," she sobbed. "I can't, Sherlock…"

"What are you talking about?"

Helena didn't answer, she just cried harder. Sherlock's heart sank a little at the sight of the woman so broken up. Whatever was going on couldn't be good.  
>"Talk to me, Helena," he ventured, lifting her chin with his hand. The woman's bright eyes looked straight at him and he felt like he'd been stabbed.<p>

"I… I work for him," she spat out, lowering her stare.

"What?"

"I work for him, Sherlock!" she yelled then. The detective knew who she was talking about, and backed away from her.

"You have to help me," she sobbed again. "Please, Sherlock, I—"

"Help you?" he asked calmly. His insides were turning, though.

"He's gonna… he's gonna kill me," she stuttered, tears still running down her perfect cheeks.

"Why?"

"He wanted me to… to spy on you, to get to know you…" she said incoherently. "But I don't want to play anymore, Sherlock… he scares me," she sobbed.

Sherlock was torn. Was she telling the truth, or was it all just another trick? He looked at her, trying to deduce something that might help him. Nothing. She felt genuinely guilty, and was crying her heart out. There was something he didn't understand, something in his chest broke at the sight of her pain. She wasn't lying, he decided.

"What made you change your mind?" he asked then. That was the only thing he couldn't understand. Moriarty was a scary man indeed, but Helena didn't look like the kind of woman who got scared easily, so what was it? He flattered himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was for him.

"I… I just…" she couldn't get the words out, she was crying too much.

"Helena," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You're safe now," he said gently.

"No, I'm not! If he finds out I came clean he's going to kill me! And he will find out, he always does!"

"I… we, will protect you."

"Thank you," she sobbed. "Sherlock…"

"Don't," he interrupted her. "I imagine he threatened you into the job, am I right?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Don't be sorry, then. We'll fix this."

"Thank you," she sobbed again. She buried her face in his chest and they both waited for the crying to stop, but this time Sherlock put his arms around her.

John caught a glimpse of what was happening from the kitchen, and shook his head. He didn't believe a word that came out of her pretty mouth. But Sherlock was cleverer than him, and he did. So where did the truth lie? His instinct said the woman couldn't be trusted, but then again…

Helena finally stopped crying, and Sherlock let her go. She looked up at him and smiled weakly. Sherlock tried to return the smile, but failed. He approached her slowly, not really sure of what he was doing, but she knew. She stood on her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his lips. She mouthed a thank you then, and Sherlock blushed visibly.  
>John looked away, unwilling to admit to himself it was out of jealousy.<p>

Helena didn't spend the night at Baker Street, though Sherlock had insisted. She said everything had to be normal, or Moriarty would notice something was wrong. It was logic, and Sherlock wasn't one to argue with logic.

As soon as she got into the apartment her phone went off. She answered it, smiling.

"Hello, darling," she said.

"Good evening, love," Jim answered. "How did it go?"

"According to plan," she smiled.

"Good girl," the man cheered. "We're set for phase 3 then! Excellent!"

"Why don't you drop by to celebrate?"

"Would if I could, love."

"Fine," she snorted. "Well I'll have a scotch and soda on you then."

"Have two," he smiled. "Goodnight, doll."

"Goodnight, Jim."

Helena hung up and made herself two scotch and soda, then downed them quickly. She slid out of her clothes and went to bed, satisfied with herself for the job well done.

The next day, she woke up early and waited. She knew Sherlock would drop by at some point. She got him hooked, but good. She found herself smiling at the thought of Sherlock being there, and she wondered why.  
>As usual, she was right. At noon there was a knock on the door, and when she opened it Sherlock stood there, an awkward smile on his face.<p>

"Hi," she greeted him. "What-"

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine, Sherlock. You shouldn't really wor-"

"Have you heard from him?"

"No," she sighed.

"Good, good."

"Would you like some tea?" she asked gently. Sherlock took her up on that offer, and they sat down in the kitchen, silently sipping their tea.

"Can I ask you a question?" she inquired then.

"Of course."

"Have you ever… had someone?"

Sherlock stiffened in his chair. What was he supposed to say? No one had ever dared asking that before. He lowered his piercing eyes, and cleared his throat. Helena tilted her head, trying not to look amused.

"Does it matter?" asked Sherlock.

"I guess not. I was just curious."

"Don't be. I'm not that interesting."

"Don't underestimate yourself!" she smiled.

"I don't."

"Oh, you mean, you're not interesting for _women?"_

"No—I—Well…"

"I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?" she smirked.

"Of course not…"

Helena smiled and continued drinking her tea. Sherlock couldn't look at her for a few moments, while he tried to regain his composure. She was dazzling that morning, wrapped in a pale green night gown. That color looked lovely on her, Sherlock noticed. He shouldn't have been noticing those kind of things, but there was nothing else to notice that morning. She was hard to read usually, but it was even harder when her eyes were so bright and her body so exposed.

"I should go," Sherlock nearly whispered, standing up.

"You just got here!"

"I—I have to work."

"I thought you might stay," she purred, standing up and placing a hand on his shoulder, lightly tracing her fingers on his neck. Sherlock muttered something incomprehensible, and backed away.

"I'm sorry," Helena whispered. "I thought—"

"I should go," the detective repeated, and let himself out.


	11. Lust

.

* * *

><p><em>10 – Lust<em>

* * *

><p>Sherlock didn't come back after that, so Helena dropped by Baker Street three days later. Jim was probably about to make his move, and everything needed to be in place.<p>

"Hello," John dryly said when she walked in. "Sherlock's not here."

"Oh. Where did he go?" asked Helena.

"Out," John replied. She raised a brow in confusion and stared at John, who gave went back to reading his newspaper.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I don't like you," John calmly stated. "And I don't like what you're doing to Sherlock."

"What am I doing to him?" Helena said, in a challenging tone.

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Helena."

"I would never," she smiled, sitting down in front of him.

"You're trying to seduce him!"

"Look closer, Johnny. I already _have_," Helena smirked. The doctor stiffened in his chair, and lowered his gaze. "So are you just jealous, or is it something else?" she asked casually.

"Jealous? That's insane! I just don't… like you."

"You seemed to like me before you saw me kissing him…"

"Are you implying—"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm just stating the obvious."

"Look, I trust Sherlock's judgment, and he trusts you. But I don't have to like you," said John, changing the subject.

"What's going on?" asked Sherlock, who had just come through the door.

"Hello there, handsome," said Helena, suddenly smiling.

"John, do you mind giving us a minute?"

"Of course," John snorted, and left the room. Sherlock sat down in the place the doctor left empty, and stared at Helena for a long minute.

"What was that?" he asked then.

"John was just telling me how much he dislikes me."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't really care, so don't be."

"Why doesn't he like you?"

"Something about what I'm doing to you."

"What are you doing to me?" Sherlock asked, furrowing his brows.

"I don't know, what _am_ I doing to you?" Helena asked, placing a hand on the detective's leg. She gave a little squeeze, and Sherlock stiffened. Helena smiled and took her hand off of him.

"Nothing," Sherlock answered, his mouth dry. "Helena, is everything okay?" he asked, after having cleared his throat.

"Not really, but who cares."

"I do."

"I'm being followed, Sherlock. I can't stay long, I just wanted to let you know. You shouldn't come to my place for a while."

"Who's following you?"

"Some guy, I don't know his name. He's one of Moriarty's best men."

"You should be careful," said Sherlock, knitting his brows.

"I always am."

"Alright then."

"I have to go now. Bye, darling," Helena smiled, and leaned in to kiss Sherlock on the cheek. The man couldn't help but give a little smile at that gesture.  
>Helena took a cab back to her apartment, and sat down on the couch with a glass of wine. It wasn't too long before her phone rang.<p>

"Yes?" she answered.

"Hello, honey," said Jim.

"Hi there, love."

"I'll be there in ten," he smiled, then hung up. Helena smiled too, as she got up and slid out of her clothes. She put on her best lingerie, and drank another glass of wine while she waited for Jim to show up. Exactly ten minutes later, he came through the door.

"Hi there," he smiled, walking into the living room to find her lying on the couch.

"Hey," she purred standing up from the couch, then she ran her riding crop over her exposed body and smiled. "Have you been wicked, my love?"

* * *

><p>They lay in bed, Jim's arms wrapped tight around her, her head buried in his chest. Helena was waiting for Jim to come up with an excuse to leave, but the man wasn't going to leave that night.<p>

"Helena," he whispered, "If anything goes wrong tomorrow…"

"Nothing will go wrong," she interrupted him.

"Of course not, but just let me say this, okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you," he smiled. Not a creepy smile, a real one. Helena raised her head and looked at him, then smiled back. "I love you _so much_," the man continued. Helena was taken aback by that statement, Jim was never one to say such things. Of course he told her he loved her, from time to time, but never like that. He usually said it during sex, actually.

"I love you too, Jim," she answered, unsure of what was going through the man's mind.

"Keep that in mind, would you?"

"I will," she smiled again. She lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. Those sounded like the last words of a suicidal person, she thought bitterly. But surely suicide wasn't in Jim's plans, right? He was too narcissistic to even think of that, right? Sometimes she felt like the only thing that kept him alive and entertained was he didn't need her there at all, as long as he had Sherlock to play with.

She remembered, before this whole Sherlock thing, they were happy. They were dysfunctional, granted, but happily so.

Jim's phone rang then, and Helena was distracted from her train of thought.

"Yes," Jim answered. "Sebastian, this is not a good time," he snorted. "Then kill them!" he suddenly shouted. Helena chuckled, amused by the fact that Moran was being yelled to. She really couldn't stand the guy.

"Ok, bye," Jim dryly said, hanging up.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"Sebastian's a stupid fuck," the man snorted.

"But we already knew that," she smiled.

"We did, didn't we?"

"Honey," she purred, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. "Round three?" she smiled, tracing her hand down his chest.

"It's like you read my mind!"

* * *

><p>.<p> 


	12. Lucky

.

* * *

><p><em>11 – Lucky<em>

* * *

><p>When Helena woke up, she was surprised to find that Jim was still there. He was awake, and she wondered he had slept at all. He looked over at her and gave a half smile, which she returned happily.<p>

"Good morning," he said.

"Hey," she yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

Jim kissed her forehead and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. When she got there, coffee was ready and he was already dressed. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and had a weird tourist hat on his head.

"What the hell are you wearing?" she asked, chuckling. She had never seen him wear anything but designer suits.

"I'm going undercover," he smiled creepily. "The Tower, remember?"

"Oh. Right, of course."

"I need to get going, honey. I'll see you later," he said. "Be at Baker Street around ten-thirty, and take it from there."

"Alright. Bye, love," she smiled. Jim placed a burning kiss on her lips and left the room. She heard the door closing and sank into her chair. She sipped her coffee slowly, mentally going through the plan once again. It was a good plan… a _very_ good plan. She was always amazed by how Jim's plans worked out perfectly, every single time.

She got dressed and cleaned her gun carefully, then put it back together and dropped it in her Vivienne Westwood purse.

She thought about what she had done, and what she was going to do, to Sherlock. For a second, she almost felt guilty. This wasn't her fight, in the end. But she fought nonetheless, for him. Her job was mainly to acquire information about the detective, get to know everything there was to know, and then report back to Jim. But that wasn't all, she had also to make him attached to her, so it would be more hurtful when she finally revealed herself to be on the other side.

Jim was all about hurting Sherlock, in every way possible. Sherlock was gonna die in disgrace, abandoned by everyone, tricked by the first woman who showed interest in him.

That was only one part of the plan, and it was genius. Cruel, but genius. The most important part was going to be performed by Jim himself.

Helena went to the fireplace and pressed in a specific point. The fireplace shifted on the wall, revealing a hidden chamber. Inside it, the walls were covered in sniper rifles, double barrels, guns and every other weapon you can think of. She chose a sniper rifle and disassembled it, then put all the single parts in her bag. She got out of the hidden room and moved the fireplace, concealing it once again.

Then, with a glance at her watch, she grabbed her coat and headed out, off to Baker Street.

When she got there, John was reading the paper while Sherlock watched something with his microscope in the kitchen. She greeted them, and they mumbled a "hello", too busy to pay attention to her, apparently.

She sat down in front of Sherlock and asked what he was doing. The man didn't answer, instead he stood up and invited her to take a look for herself. Helena took his place and looked into the microscope. She had no idea what she was looking at, so Sherlock started explaining.  
>John snorted loudly, but was ignored by both of them.<p>

"Fascinating," said Helena when Sherlock was finished.

"Isn't it?"

"It is indeed," she smiled. Sherlock returned an awkward smile.

"Sherlock, your phone," said John, seeing the detective's phone had gone off.

"I'm busy," the man answered, taking back his place and looking into the microscope. Helena sat back down in front of him and observed him. John was irritated, but he tried to hide it.

"Sherlock," repeated John, when the phone rang again.

"Helena, do you mind?" he asked.

"Not at all," she said, and went to get him phone. John gave her a dirty look, but she ignored him. She took the phone in the kitchen and handed it to Sherlock. He didn't take it, and asked her to read the message.

"Come and play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty, x," she read. A quick smile flashed upon her lips, but she hid it immediately.

"He's back," John commented grimly.

Sherlock looked up from the microscope. The phone rang again, it was Lestrade begging him to go down to the station.

"Let's go," Sherlock said after hanging up, and they all went. When they got there, Detective Inspector Lestrade was waiting. He took them to a poorly lit room and showed them the footage of the break in at the Tower.

Helena stood in the back, a silly smile on her beautiful face. Jim was an artist, definitely. Lestrade and Sherlock talked about how he broke the glass with a diamond and other silly things. None of it mattered to Helena, and it shouldn't have mattered to them either. Oh, if the only knew.  
>Jim had been taken into custody, waiting for the trial. Helena stood by Sherlock's side through the days that anticipated it. The detective was all nerves and no good manners.<p>

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, as Sherlock sat down on the sofa in her apartment. She had managed to get him there without John knowing.

"I'd like Moriarty's head on a plate," he dryly answered.

"The trial's tomorrow, you should relax a little. I'm sure he's going to be convicted."

"Well, I'm not."

"Can't you play nice for a couple of hours? Just for me?" she smiled, and caressed the side of his face. Sherlock blushed visibly.

"I'd like some tea, thank you, Helena," he said then, trying to smile.

"Come with me," she said politely, and Sherlock followed her to the kitchen.

"You need me here to make tea?" he asked, confused.

"I just like company," she smiled. "Mine's a lonely life, you know."

"It doesn't have to be."

"It kind of does, actually."

"You went to law school," he said casually. "You could quit your job and become a real lawyer."

"How did you know that?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"I can't _quit_ my job," she answered, lowering her stare. "I wish I could," she continued. In that moment she didn't realize it, but she really meant those words.

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. They would kill me."

"Who?"

"All the people I've ever worked for. They would want to make sure I don't talk."

"I see."

Helena poured the tea in silence, while Sherlock observed her closely. Her eyes were watery.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad," he stated.

"It's okay."

They moved to the living room to drink the tea, in perfect silence. Neither said a word for what felt like forever, until Sherlock looked at the clock on the wall and said he had to go.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the trial?" he asked.

"Oh, you'll see me alright," she smirked. She grabbed his collar and pulled him in a chaste kiss. Sherlock, for the first time, put his arms around her and gave in to the kiss, making it not so chaste anymore.

Helena was taken aback, but went with it. What was she supposed to do?

She slammed him to the wall and they continued to kiss frantically. Her head was spinning, she didn't think it would get this far. But they were so close to ending everything, she couldn't just blow it now. Besides, Sherlock would never go through with it, right?

He tightened his arms around her, and suddenly she had an idea. Without breaking the kiss, she started undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Sherlock immediately pushed her away enough to talk.

"Helena," he said, out of breath. "I have to go."

"Of course," she fake frowned.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. She gave him a quick kiss.

"Don't be."

He grabbed his coat and left. Helena sighed in relief as she closed the door behind him. She could have never done… _that_. Never.

She thought about it, and decided Jim wouldn't even be that mad. He'd be jealous, of course, but he wouldn't be _mad_. Because it was means to an end to him, after all. She was just a pawn in his chess game, for the moment. She'd go back to being his only comfort when it was all over.

She didn't sleep much that night, and woke up angry and sad. She had a bad feeling, like something was going to go wrong.

She shook it off and had a quick breakfast before heading to the trial.


	13. Anticipation

.

* * *

><p><em>12 – Anticipation<em>

* * *

><p>Helena got to the court early, and met John in the hall. He smiled politely, hiding the bitterness. Helena smiled like she had no cares in the world. It was a good day.<p>

"Is Sherlock inside already?" she asked John.

"He's in the bathroom," the doctor answered. Helena nodded and headed into the courtroom. Jim was already there, standing tall. He smiled at the woman as she entered the room, and Helena tried to ignore him. She sat in the back and smiled to herself, watching Jim's back.

John entered the room a few minutes later, and sat in the row below hers. Soon, the trial began. Sherlock testified, but was soon sent into custody for contempt.

Helena watched as John left the room to go and get him, and smiled again. They had no idea how bad it would get, and that amused her very much.

Jim's lawyer stated that his client hadn't provided any proof of his innocence, and thus the defense rested. In a mere 6 minutes, the jury came back with the verdict. They found Jim innocent, and he was released immediately.

Helena smiled at him as she left the room, and headed to Baker Street. She found Sherlock there, lying on the couch, fingers joined beneath his chin.

"Have you heard?" she asked.

"Innocent," he dryly stated. "Obviously."

"He would never have been caught if that wasn't what he wanted," Helena smiled. Sherlock looked at her in confusion. "What?" she asked.

"How did you know that?"

"It was quite evident, wasn't it?"

"It was, yes. I guess I'm just used to having to explain everything to John."

"I'm not John, remember?" she smiled, sitting beside him. She tilted her head, looking straight in his glowing eyes, then slowly closed the distance between them and kissed him. Sherlock kissed her back for a second, then backed away.

"I have work to do," he said. "But I'll see you later?"

"Of course," she smiled. "I'll be home."

And with that, she left 221B and headed back home. It was Jim's time to shine now, she had done everything she had to do. When she got home, she found a big box closed with a red ribbon waiting for her on the bed. Curiously, she opened it. Inside were a note written on an expensive piece of paper, and a beautiful long, black gown, by Vivienne Westwood obviously.

She smiled to herself and read the note, which only said "I love you –JM".

Helena took out the gown and tried it on, it suited her perfectly, and was the most beautiful dress she's ever seen. Probably Jim intended to celebrate after the job was done, she thought.  
>Though that dress would have been perfect for a funeral, too. She shook that thought away, and took the gown off, replacing it with a pair of black jeans, a black turtle neck sweater, and black combat boots.<p>

As she drank some tea, she wished she could see how Jim was handling things. She was sure he was being charming and perfect, as usual. In that moment, he was with Sherlock at 221B, misleading him with fake clues and acting crazy. Well, he _was_ crazy, but in a very organized manner.

She spent the rest of the day at home, watching telly, until someone knocked on her door. That was unexpected.

She opened the door and Moran stood there, with the usual grim look on his face.

"What do you want?" she asked, annoyed.

"Can I come in?" the man inquired, raising a brow. Helena let him in reluctantly and closed the door behind him.

"James said we should be ready by dawn, but there's been a change of plans."

"What's changed?"

"He wants you to be there for the fall," Moran stated dryly.

"Me? Why? I thought that was _his_ big moment."

"I don't know, he didn't say anything else."

"He could have called me, instead of sending you here," Helena snorted.

"He's busy, Ellie."

"Of course he is," she sighed. "I was about to open a bottle of wine, wanna stay?"

"Sure," he half smiled. Helena hated the man, but she wanted company. The bad feeling she had wouldn't go away, and somehow having Sebastian there made her feel safer. He had taught her everything she knows, but they'd never gotten along. Mostly because Moran was jealous of Helena and Jim's relationship, though he'd never admit it.

Helena sat down on the couch as Sebastian opened the bottle and poured the wine in two glasses. He handed one to her, and she drank up quickly.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"It's Jim. He's been acting weird," Helena said, and Moran nodded. "He's never been suicidal, right?"

"Suici—what are you talking about?"

"The other night, he told me some things… it felt like he was saying goodbye."

"His ego is too big, Ellie. He'd never kill himself."

"Yes, that's what I thought…"

"Don't worry, he's probably just on edge about this whole Holmes thing."

"Definitely."

"It's going to be over soon, kiddo. Hang in there, okay?" he smiled. Why was he being so kind? Did he know something she didn't? No, of course not. She dismissed the thought and realized she was just being paranoid.

The bottle of wine was empty in a couple of hours, and Helena was being friendlier. Finally, her phone went off, and she read the text message aloud.

"My love, the roof of Barths, immediately."

"That's my clue," Sebastian said, and stood up. "I have to be in position before Sherlock gets there."

With that, they grabbed their coats and bags and left the apartment, heading each to their destination. Helena got to the hospital and, unnoticed, she went all the way up to the roof, to find Jim sitting there, waiting.

"Good morning, love!" he greeted her cheerfully. She approached him quickly, and sat beside him.

"Why am I here?" she asked. "I'm supposed to—"

"I know, I know. I was bored."

"But-"

"Don't worry, you'll be here just for a couple of minutes, then you can go back to your job. I just wanted Sherly to see you before… well, you know."

Just as he was saying those word, Sherlock opened the door to the roof and walked towards them.

However, he stopped and stared in shock when he noticed Helena.


	14. Dead

.

* * *

><p><em>13 – Dead<em>

* * *

><p>Helena smiled at the look of shock on Sherlock's face.<p>

"What—Helena?" he asked, confusion blinding him.

"Hello, sweetie," she smirked. "Surprise!"

"But… I…"

"The great Sherlock Holmes got tricked by a woman," Jim laughed, standing up. Helena stood up too, and chuckled with her man. Jim took her in his arms and kissed her. "You're fantastic," he told her, smiling widely and creepily.

"I was good, wasn't I?" she asked Sherlock. "You poor thing. You actually thought I gave a fuck?" she smiled.

"I—This doesn't change anything," the detective said, lowering his eyes. He thought he was the one who didn't care, and yet there he was, _hurt_. The big plan, never letting anyone close enough to hurt him, it all went to hell because of Helena's bright green eyes.

"Oh, but it does," Jim smirked. "Look at you! Trying so hard to keep it together! In the end I was right… you're _ordinary,_ Sherlock Holmes. It only took a beautiful woman to make you fall… but the fall isn't over yet!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Our problem, our final problem!" Jim cheered, madness shining in his black eyes.

"He told you, but did you listen…?" Helena bantered him.

Sherlock fell silent, confused and hurt as he were, he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't lead to more mocking.

"Oh, c'mon, darling. Don't be upset, it's all good business…" Helena addressed Sherlock. The man gave her a dirty look.

"She's right, you know, you shouldn't be upset. In the end, you knew we'd end up here, didn't you now?" Jim said.

"It doesn't matter," said Sherlock.

"Of course it does!" Jim yelled. "Can't you see? It all fell into place perfectly! My plan was a thing of beauty, you can't deny that!"

"You're insane," he said, his stare moving from Moriarty to Helena and back.

"You're just getting that now?" Jim chuckled darkly. Helena laughed, looking the detective straight in the eyes. "You can go now, my love," Jim told Helena, smiling. She grabbed his tie and kissed his fiercely, then walked towards Sherlock.

"Adios, Sherlock Holmes," she chuckled in his ear, then gave him a soft kiss and left the roof. She grabbed the bag she'd left on the stairs and headed down. She then crossed the street and positioned herself behind one of the top windows.

She carefully assembled her sniper rifle, then aimed it at the street beneath her. John wasn't there yet, so she thought she'd give a look at what was happening on the roof. Through her sights, she saw Jim walking around Sherlock, she couldn't hear what he was saying, but she smiled anyway.

Helena wondered what they were talking about, wondered if Jim had a script of was just improvising.

He was improvising, she decided, smiling to herself. Of course he was, he was insane, like Sherlock had pointed out.

Sometimes she wondered whether she was insane too, and the answer was usually yes, she definitely was. How else could she love Jim so much? And wasn't love just madness, in the end?

Her phone rang, and she answered it without looking.

"Hello?"

"Ellie, are you in position?" Sebastian asked.

"Yes, I am. The doc isn't here yet though."

"Okay. What's going on?"

"They're on the roof, it looks like they're just talking. Jim is probably explaining everything thoroughly, just like a good old fashioned villain."

"Of course he is," Sebastian chuckled. "Fine, keep an eye on them until Watson arrives."

"I will," she answered, and hung up.

In the meantime, Sherlock had grabbed Jim by the shoulders and was threatening to throw him down the building. Helena held her breath, though in her heart she knew Sherlock would never do it, and Jim would never let him.

Finally, Sherlock let him go, and Jim straightened his suit, looking annoyed. They both looked down at the street, then Jim said something she couldn't hear and they started walking in circles again.

In a few minutes, they were inches away from each other, and Jim looked crazier than ever. She smiled to herself once again, she just loved him so much.

Then, in a fraction of a second, she saw him pull out his gun, and wondered what he was to do with it. That wasn't the plan, Sherlock was going to kill himself, right?

Jim put the gun in his mouth.

"No!" she yelled to the closed window. What the hell was he doing, it didn't make sense…

Then Jim shot himself.

"Jim! No!" she yelled again. "No!"


	15. Fallout

.

* * *

><p><em>14 – Fallout<em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>6 months later<em>**

Helena paced down the hall of the huge mansion somewhere in Scotland, wondering how much longer she'd have to wait. Sebastian leaned on the wall, observing the woman and her impatience.

"Ellie, you need to calm down," he said.

"They always make us wait for ages, isn't that cruel?" she asked.

"They need to be sure, kiddo."

"The answer is always the same: 'we have to wait and see'."

"There's hope in that," Sebastian observed. "Would you rather there wasn't?"

"Of course not. I'm just saying—" she started, but was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She sprinted towards it and looked hopefully at the man who came out. He was wearing a white coat and had a stethoscope around his neck.

"So?" she asked.

"We'll have to wait and see, miss Williams."

"Can I see him now?"

"If you want," the doctor said. Helena pushed him aside and went inside the room.

"Thanks, doc," said Sebastian, shaking the man's hand. He then followed the woman inside the room, and leaned casually on the wall. Helena sat on the bed, next to the body of the man she loved.

James had been in a coma for six months now. Every week the doctor would visit and every week he would say they had to wait and see. Helena was out of her mind with pain, and spent the time drinking and sitting there, talking to Jim. Sebastian tried his best to keep her alive, but he had noticed the red lines on her arms. He knew what that meant, it meant he should be afraid, it meant he should always keep an eye on her, if he didn't want to find her on the bathroom floor with her wrists slit.

"Do you want me to leave?" Sebastian asked.

"Yes," Helena dryly answered, tears burning in her eyes. She didn't even turn around to look as Moran left the room.

"Hello, love," she said, caressing the side of Jim's face. "I miss you," she whispered. "You know, Seb is always so kind to me... I wish I could return the favor. I know he's in pain too," she said, then paused for a long minute, trying to keep her breathing under control. "When you wake up I'm going to slap you, you know? You promised me… you promised you'd never leave," she continued, and her voice broke. The tears started rolling down her face, though she'd tried to hold them back. "Why don't you love me, Jim?" she asked, almost yelling. It was the same question she always asked, everyday. "Because you know, if you did love me, you would have never done this," she sobbed. "I thought… I thought you loved me… and then you went and tore everything apart. I'm leaving, as soon as you wake up," she cried. "You hear that? I'm leaving, Jim," the words died in her mouth as she spoke them, and she rested her head on his chest, crying her heart out. Sebastian was right outside the door, and though he tried not to listen, Helena cried too loud for him not to notice. For a few minutes she didn't say anything, she just sat there crying, until she found the strength to speak again.

"You bastard," she said. "What could he possibly do to make you take your own life?" she sobbed. "You should have thought of me, Jim. You should have thought of me and you should have stopped!" she yelled. "I'm never forgiving you for this! You're going to pay for what you did to me!" she shouted. Sebastian decided that was enough, and slammed the door open.

"Okay, kiddo. Time to go," he calmly said. Helena shook her head and clung to Jim.

"I'm not leaving!" she yelled.

"Helena, come with me."

"No!"

Sebastian grabbed her shoulders and dragged her outside. Helena kicked and screamed, so he picked her up forcefully and dragged her to her room.

"Put me down!" she yelled. "Put me down, Seb!"

The man ignored her and continued to walk towards her bedroom. He then dropped her on the bed, and pinned her arms down.

"You need to calm down," he said.

"Let me go! I need to see him, please, Sebastian, please!"

"Calm the fuck down, Helena, or I'll sedate you again!"

"No! Let me go!" she yelled. She was still crying, and Sebastian's heart sank.

"Ellie, please, don't make me do this."

"Let me go!" she shouted again, and tried to break free from his grip. She couldn't, he was much stronger than her. She settled down, realizing there was nothing she could do, and continued crying in hysteria.

"Helena," Sebastian sighed, releasing her. "I'm so sorry, kiddo."

Helena didn't say anything, she just cried, curling up on the bed. Sebastian asked if she wanted anything, a glass of water, something to eat. She shook her head. She had been eating so little, and he was really worried. She was a ghost of herself, just an empty shell. He sat down on the bed next to her, and ran his fingers through her hair, trying to calm her down.

"Maybe you should go back to work, that might—"

"No," she interrupted him. "I can't," she said.

"Why not?"

"I'm going to get myself killed," she simply stated, and Sebastian nodded. It was true, she was out of shape and out of practice, she'd just be an easy target. He didn't work as much as he used to, either. He had to keep an eye on her, and that took up most of his time. In all honesty, he didn't think Jim would wake up, but of course he never told Helena. She was so desperate for it.

"Can you pass that bottle?" she asked him, pointing at the half empty bottle of white Martini on the floor.

"Ellie…"

"Please?" she pleaded, still in tears. Sebastian sighed loudly, but passed her the bottle.

"Thanks," she sobbed, then opened the bottle and took a long sip.

"I have to go now," he said. He didn't want to leave her, but he had to work. Without James, she should have been the one in charge of everything, but she obviously couldn't handle it, so he took over.

"Don't cry, Ellie," he said, standing up. "Everything will be okay in the end."

"When's the end?" she asked, lighting a cigarette. He smiled at her and left the room, his heart heavy with guilt. He didn't want to leave her alone so often.

Though they clearly didn't like each other, in the past six months they had to learn how to deal with that, because the only thing they had left was each other. Helena clung to him like her life depended on it, and it probably did. He, on the other hand, found it therapeutic to have someone to look after.


	16. Desperation

.

* * *

><p><em>15 – Desperation<em>

* * *

><p>Helena lit the hundredth cigarette and stared into space as Sebastian, sitting in front of her, thoroughly cleaned his gun. Weeks had passed, and still the doctors were saying "we have to wait and see". Helena didn't even cry anymore, mostly she just yelled and smoked and drank. She stopped going into Jim's room too often, she had run out of things to say. She slept too much and ate too little. She let the ash from her cigarette fall on the floor, without one look at it.<p>

"Do you think he's alive?" she suddenly asked.

"Who?"

"Sherlock."

"He fell down a building, Helena."

"But what if he were alive, somehow?"

"He can't be."

"If he were, I'd find him, and I'd skin him alive," she hissed.

"Technically, he didn't do anything."

"Bullshit. He's the reason why Jim is…" she started, but her voice broke mid-sentence.

"Ellie, he's dead, okay? They buried him. We were there."

"Okay," she sighed, not at all convinced. There was something off about Sherlock's death, but she couldn't understand what it was. Her instinct told her he was still alive, and her instinct was usually right.

"Can I see Jim now?" she asked. Sebastian nodded, and she headed down the corridor, to Jim's room. She opened the door slowly, almost expecting to see him there, wearing one of his perfect suits, he'd turn around and smile at her, then he'd kiss her and everything would be alright.

But he was in bed, wired up to a machine.

She sat on the bed and smiled down at him. Nothing would be alright. Not even if he woke up right that second, it would never be alright again.

"Hello, my darling," she said sweetly. "Sebastian thinks I'm going insane… maybe I am. I don't know. Do you think Sherlock is alive? I do. I'm sure you do too… what would you do if he were really dead? You'd be so bored… I don't want you to be bored. That's why I'm leaving, I guess," she said, tears burning in her eyes. But she was braver that day, and she held them back. "The doctors are humoring me, and so is Sebastian. You're never going to wake up, are you? And thus, I'm never going to leave this place… it's so unfair, you know," she sighed. "So unfair."

She took his hand in hers and smiled softly. Sebastian was right outside the door, thinking that Helena was being suspiciously quiet that day. He opened the door slowly and took a peek inside.

"Everything okay?" he asked. Helena was just holding Jim's hand, with a disenchanted smile on her face.

"We're fine," she answered, turning her head to look at him. "Seb, can you promise me something?"

"I don't know, Ellie. What is it?"

"If Jim never wakes up, will you take care of me?"

"I'm already doing that, kiddo," he sighed. How could Helena not realize he was already doing that? Sebastian shook his head and left the room.

"See? He thinks you won't wake up," she told Jim, chuckling darkly. "I'm the only one who still has hope. That's… lonely. I'm lonely."  
>She shook her head, trying not to cry again, and sighed deeply. There was nothing she could do, no one she could kill, to get him back. And what if he never came back to her? Sometimes she wondered if he could hear her, and wondered if he was mad about all the mean things she said. But surely he knew she didn't really mean those things… and probably he couldn't hear her, so it didn't matter.<p>

"Ellie, the doctor is here," Sebastian said. She hadn't noticed he was there.

"Oh," she said, and stood up awkwardly. She headed for her bedroom, but Moran stopped her.

"Don't you want to wait in the hall?"

"Not today," she said, and disappeared up the stairs.

Moran greeted the doctor and let him in Jim's room, then waited patiently outside. Helena closed the door to her room and lit yet another cigarette, then took a long sip out of a bottle of scotch.

She heard nothing from downstairs for long minutes, until the doctor's high pitched voice broke the silence. She couldn't hear the exact words, but the man sounded shocked. She decided to head downstairs to see what was going on. When she got there, Moran was pointing a gun at the doc, who shook with fear.

"Please, Mr. Moran, I swear! Just go in there and see for yourself!" the doctor pleaded.

"Don't lie to me, doc," Sebastian hissed.

"What's going on?" Helena asked. Moran turned to look at her, and the doctor smiled seeing her.

"Miss Williams, thank god! He's awake!" the doctor said.

"Shut up!" Moran yelled. Helena's eyes were watery. She ran past them and into Jim's room, and found him there, barely conscious, but conscious nonetheless.

"Jim?" she ventured. His blank black eyes turned to her, but it was almost like he couldn't see her. "Jim, darling, can you hear me?" she asked. Jim tried to speak, but he couldn't. "Oh god," she sighed, and broke down crying. Moran entered the room, followed by the doctor. He asked for elucidations, and the doctor started explaining that it was basically a miracle, and that James would need some time to recover, but in the end he would be alright. Helena wasn't listening to any of that.

She sat down on the bed and cried in Jim's chest. The man tried to speak again, but he was too weak.

"My love," she sobbed. "I've missed you so much…"

Sebastian looked at his boss in shock, he really thought he wouldn't wake up. And yet, there he was. Only James Moriarty could pull something like that off.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Helena silently stepped into Jim's room, thinking he might be asleep. It had been a week since he woke up, and he was still weak. The doctor said he needed to rest for another month at least, to fully recover.

She sat down on her chair next to the bed, and stared at him. Unexpectedly, the man turned around and looked at her curiously.

"Are you okay, my sweet?" he asked.

"What was the problem, Jim?" she inquired, her expression tense.

"What?" he remarked, confused.

" The _final_ problem, James. What was it?"

"It was nothing, just a little something to drive Sherlock mad…"

"I think it was life," she stated. "And you tried to solve it."

"Helena…"

"I wanted to wait until you felt better, but I can't anymore. I'm leaving. There's a car waiting outside."

"What? No, you can't do that," he said, sitting up. "I won't let you," he hissed.

"It's not up to you."

"Helena, you're not going anywhere."

"Why should I stay? Give me one good reason."

"I love you," the man stated, looking her straight in the eyes.

"No, you don't," she said, and stood up.

"Helena, don't leave. I'm nothing without you," he said, lowering his stare.

"I'm sorry. I have to," she replied, and walked out the door.

Jim held his head in his hands, and listened to the clicking of her heels, until he couldn't hear it anymore. He heard a car pull over and leave, then he was left there alone, in perfect silence.


	17. Breathe

.

* * *

><p><em>16 – Breathe<em>

* * *

><p>Helena sat on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand. She took a remote and turned the music up as soon as her phone started ringing again. It had been ringing nonstop ever since she left the mansion, two days earlier. She never answered it.<p>

She drank the wine in silence, and staring blankly at the floor. What was she supposed to do now? Jim would soon stop being hurt and start being cruel, and that basically meant she'd never find a job again, or maybe she'd end up with a bullet in her skull. Either way, she was screwed.

She poured herself some more wine and curled up on the couch, not sure if she had any more tears to cry. She already missed him so much, it physically hurt her. But she couldn't go back, that was out of the question. Maybe if he showed up at her door, begging on his knees, she'd take him back. Then again, maybe not.  
>She heard a noise, and turned down the music. Someone was knocking on the door. She stood up lazily and walked to the door. The knocking got louder and louder, and she sighed, her back against the door.<p>

"Go away, Moran," she said firmly.

"Ellie, c'mon, let me in," the man replied calmly.

"No. Go away," she repeated.

"Helena, for fuck's sake, let me in!" he yelled. Helena slid down to the floor and let her head fall back on the door. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she sighed loudly. Outside, Moran placed a hand on the door and lowered his head.

"Let me in, kiddo," he said.

"Please, Seb, go away…"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, I'm not letting you in," she remarked bitterly, holding back the tears. She had been so strong, so brave, she hadn't cried a single tear since she left the mansion, and now Sebastian showed up and all her efforts went down the drain. Helena heard him sit down outside the door, and held her head in her hands.

"Seb, please, leave," she said again.

"He's going insane, you know?" Moran stated, ignoring her plea. "Sometimes he tears off all the wires and demands to be left alone to die."

"Sebastian…"

"He's not all there with his head yet, and sometimes he forgets you left, and asks for you. So I have to stand there and tell him you left. He gets angry at me and accuses me of lying, says you'd never leave him. Then he remembers, and he doesn't talk for the rest of the day…"

"Seb, stop it, please," she pleaded, sobbing. "I can't come back…"

"Can't, or won't?"

"I won't, alright?" she yelled at the closed door. "You of all people should know."

"I _do_ know, kiddo. You're hurt. He's a stupid fuck. But this isn't good for either of you, and you know it."

"I'm gonna get over him, and then I-"

"That's a bad joke, Ellie."

"You can't tell me what to do, Seb!" she yelled again.

"I'm not. I'm just giving you some friendly advice. You're going to die without him," he said grimly.

"And he's going to die without me. It's poetic, don't you think?"

"No. This is madness, Ellie! Pack a bag and come back home with me."

"No. Not today."

"I'll come here every day until you decide to come back."

"Suit yourself," she answered bitterly, wiping the tears from her face. She heard him get up and walk down the stairs, without a single word.

She sat there for a few minutes, not sure if she were able get up at all. She tried to stop crying, and eventually succeeded.

Slowly, she dragged herself back to the couch, and drank another glass of wine. She wanted to go back so badly, but she couldn't, not yet. He needed to suffer as much as she had, and maybe a little more. She was so furious with him, she would have killed him if she'd stayed at the mansion.

She turned the music up again, to avoid her thoughts. She missed him too much. Maybe her plan wasn't that good, after all.

How was she supposed to survive without him? She had no idea. That was the kind of question that kept her up at night. Why did she love him so desperately? It wasn't fair. But now he was hurt too, so did that mean he loved her, beneath it all? Maybe she should have just gone back, like Moran said.

Just as she dismissed that thought, her phone rang again. She looked at the display and didn't recognize the number. Maybe Jim was calling from another phone? Or maybe it was a client?

She turned the music down and answered.

"Hello?"

"Helena, we need to talk," Mycroft's familiar voice said. She was taken aback, but then remembered that the only person who knew she worked with Jim was, well, dead.

"Holmes, I-"

"Please, stop by my office in the morning," the man said.

"What's this about? I'm on vacation," she answered. "I really don't have time for the government righ-"

"I think my brother may be alive," he interrupted her.

"W-what?"

"You heard me."

"Why are you telling me?"

"I need you to help me find him," he said. "Also, I thought maybe you cared to know."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mycroft," she answered, then hung up. So she was right, he _was_ alive… Jim should be informed of that, she thought. Well, she was going to wait. She'd see Mycroft in the morning and then, if things were confirmed, she'd inform Jim.

But how the hell did Sherlock survive a ten-story fall?


	18. Barely

.

* * *

><p><em>17 – Barely<em>

* * *

><p>Helena walked with a nervous pace towards the building. She was so nervous that she didn't notice the dark figure lurking in the shadows behind her which was following her since she left her apartment. She entered the building and quickly got to Mycroft's office, on the third floor.<p>

She slammed the door open and waltzed in, with a smug look on her face.

"Helena, I'm glad you came," Mycroft greeted her, without standing up from his chair.

"You better have something solid, Holmes," she said, sitting down and lighting a cigarette.

"There have been sightings."

"Sightings? That all you got?"

"Helena-"

"You're wasting my time, Holmes. And quite frankly, you're wasting yours too," she interrupted him.

"I thought you might be as hopeful as me," Mycroft sighed. "John was under the impression that you might care."

"I don't," she stated. "And if you two didn't have your heads so far up your asses, you'd see why."

"I don't understand."

"Of course not," she chuckled. "Think, Mycroft. What's the missing piece? Why did Sherlock jump?"  
>Mycroft fell silent for a few minutes, deep in thought. Helena smirked, staring at him.<p>

"Someone made him," Mycroft finally said.

"Who, Mycroft?"

"Moriarty," the man solemnly stated. Helena nodded and smiled.

"And how do I know that?" she asked, smirking. Mycroft fell silent once again, and shook his head in realization. Helena put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk, and stood up.

"This is why I don't care, Holmes," she smiled, and left the room.

Again, as she headed home, she didn't notice the man following her. She got into a cab, and the man got into the cab behind it, and followed her home.

Helena got inside her flat and headed for the couch, collapsing on it. She was about to pour herself a glass of wine and open a new pack of cigarettes, when she heard someone knocking.

"Go away, Moran!" she yelled.

"Open up, baby doll," a familiar voice yelled back. Helena knitted her brows and shook her head. He came down there in person? Something must have been very wrong. She walked to the door and hesitated before opening it, but eventually she did. Jim smiled a crooked smile, and her heart melted.

"Why are you here?" she asked, arching a brow.

"Can I come in?"

"No," she said.

"Helena, come on. You've made your point, okay? There's no need to—"

"My point?" she yelled. "If I wanted to make a point I'd shoot myself in the mouth! Then you'd know what it feels like!"

The door beside Helena's slowly opened, and Mrs. Bolen came out, looking worried. Jim turned around and smiled at her, and Helena did the same.

"Is everything okay, dear?" she asked Helena.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Bolen, don't worry!"

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Bolen," Jim smiled again. Mrs. Bolen nodded and went back inside the house, closing the door behind her.

"Get in here, you dipshit," Helena sighed, and pulled Jim inside the house. She locked the door and turned to him.

"Helena, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I will do anything you want. Just, stop being mad?"

"I don't care if you're sorry!" she yelled again.

"Tell me what you want then! I'll do anything, Helena, please."

"This is so not you, James. Coming here and begging me to take you back? What the hell happened to you?"

"_You_ happened to me!" he shouted. "I would have just sent Moran to kill you," he whispered then. "I would have done that, but I can't. I just can't."

"Why not?" she asked, on the verge of tears, her voice broken.

"Can't you see, love?" he whispered. "I am _desperately_ in love with you. And when I say desperately, I mean it. I would do anything right now, just to have you back. You did this to me, and I hate you for it. I hate you for making me this weak. I hate you because I _love_ you this much."

"James…"

"Just take me back, doll. I will never leave you alone again."

"I—I just… oh god, Jim…" Helena whispered, and the first tears started rolling down her cheeks. Jim slowly approached her, and moved to wrap her in his arms. Helena didn't move, so he proceeded, and held her tight. Helena sobbed in his chest, and he closed his eyes, exhausted. He hadn't been sleeping, or eating, for a few days.

"Ellie, please stop crying," he said. "I'm not sure how much more I can take."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry…"

Jim just held her tighter, and waited for the crying to stop. Eventually, Helena calmed down, and she raised her head to look him in the eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he smiled. Helena gave a half smile and shook her head. Jim leaned in and kissed her fiercely, and she forgot why she was crying in the first place.

The man lifted her up and brought her to the bedroom, throwing her down on the bed. Helena smirked at him, and he launched himself on her.

* * *

><p>"Helena?" Jim asked in the darkness of the bedroom. The woman was wrapped around him, but he wasn't sure she was awake.<p>

"Yes, dear?" she answered.

"You know, Sebastian… he told me everything, the things you did…" he ventured.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

"You do. Sweetheart, I never imagined…"  
>"Yeah, you did," Helena said bitterly. His ego was so big he probably had imagined that and worse. All the tears she'd shed, all the blood and the screams, all the alcohol and all the cigarettes… he knew how devastated she'd been. She swallowed the rage that burnt inside of her, and tried to smile.<p>

"Never mind. Let's not talk about this ever again, okay?" she said.

"Okay," he agreed, lowering his eyes. Helena was surprised to see him so condescending. The Jim she knew would have put up a fight until he got her to say what he wanted. But this wasn't the same Jim as before, and Helena was starting to realize that.

"I got an interesting call last night," she said, casually changing the subject. "Mycroft Holmes called me."  
>"Did he now?" Jim asked, curious. "What did he want?"<br>"He seems to think his little brother is still alive," she answered.

"I knew it!" Jim yelled, sitting up on the bed.

"Jim, I saw him fall. I was at his funeral, for fuck's sake!"

"No, no. You must have missed something. He's alive. He has to be," Jim said, excited.

Helena shook her head. She really thought things would go back to normal now, and instead there they were, Sherlock was still dividing them, even from the grave. Jim gave her a quizzical look, and she tried to smile again.  
>She wouldn't let him ruin everything again.<p> 


	19. Unsaid

.

* * *

><p><em>18 – Unsaid<em>

* * *

><p>When Helena woke up, for once she wasn't surprised to find Jim still there, sleeping soundly beside her. She smiled and shook him gently.<p>

"Jim?" she called. The man mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled over. "Jim, c'mon," she said, chuckling. Jim turned around and slowly opened his eyes, looking straight at her.

"Hey," he muttered, yawning.

"Hey there," she smiled.

"Good morning," he said, returning the smile.

She placed a quick kiss on his lips, and got out of bed. Jim complained, but she ignored him and got into the shower.

She waited for him to join her, but he never came. Helena thought he might have fallen back asleep, so when she got out of the shower, she expected to see him still in bed. She was wrong. The man stood in front of the mirror, fully dressed, and looking ready to go.

"You're leaving already?" Helena asked.

"I have to go back to work, my sweet. Sebastian took care of everything the best he could, but, well… he's not me," he smiled.

"Of course."

"You should get in shape, love, go back to work, and all."

"I am in perfect shape," she complained, furrowing her brows. Jim smirked, and swung a punch at her. She ducked and avoided it, but the man went back at her with an uppercut, and Helena fell flat on the bed, the taste of blood in her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked.

"I'm fine," she answered, sitting up on the bed.

"Six months ago I would have never been able to get near you, let alone punch you!"

"Ok, alright, I'll come back to the mansion and train with Seb."

"Oh, he's 'Seb' now? What did I miss?" Jim asked, visibly jealous.

"Nothing," she answered, chuckling.

"So I'm _not_ going to kill him?"

"No, you're not," she smiled. Jim smiled his perfectly crooked smile, and sat next to her. "We were alone for so long, Jim," she said. "Sebastian stitched me up so many times, he helped me up when I was too drunk to stand straight, he was there, Jim… he was there, when _you_ weren't," she spat out.

"I know," he sighed.

"So you don't get to be jealous, and I get to call him Seb."

"Alright. I should go," he said, standing up. He looked sad, but Helena didn't say anything. It would just take a while for things to go back to normal, and she knew that.

"I'll you see back at the mansion then?" he asked.

"You will," she smiled. The man leaned in and placed a burning kiss on her lips, then left the room. Helena fell on the bed, and listened to his footsteps, then to the door closing behind him, and finally she heard the car leaving.

For some reason, she felt like crying. Not out of joy, nor out of sadness. But still, she felt like crying her heart out. Maybe because the weight on her shoulders had been lifted, and she didn't feel as tense as before. Absentmindedly, she started packing her stuff to go back to the mansion, and she found the dress Jim had given her as a present, right before… _right before shooting himself_, she forced herself to think.

She tossed it aside and tried to ignore the burning sensation in her lungs. When she finished packing, a black limousine was already waiting for her downstairs. Jim must have called it.

She settled in the backseat and poured a glass of champagne. She drank it slowly, and soon fell asleep, letting the driver take her home.

She woke up four hours later, when the car pulled over by the mansion.

Sebastian met her at the door, and carried her bag upstairs.

"James is still working," he said. "I'm glad you're back."

Helena smiled, but didn't say anything. She followed him up the stairs, and into the master bedroom, where he put her bag down on the bed. Sebastian smiled weakly, and told her they'd be training at 8 am the next morning.

Helena nodded, and he left. She curled up on the bed and tried to sleep, but couldn't. She tossed and turned until 4 am, when she heard footsteps out the door. Instinctively, she wrapped the sheets around her and pretended to sleep.

Jim walked in the room, absentmindedly taking off his tie. Seeing Helena there, he smiled. He undressed and joined her under the sheets, wrapping his arms around her. The woman didn't move, but he could tell she was awake.

"What's keeping you up, my love?" he asked.

"Nothing," she lied. "I slept in the car."

The man nodded, not at all convinced, and she rolled over to look at him. Jim smiled down at her, and kissed her.

"What's wrong, Helena?" he asked, looking worried.

"I just need some time to adjust," she answered, shaking her head dismissively.

"I understand," he said. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not at the moment."

"Alright," the man sighed.

Neither of them were looking out the window, but if they were, they'd see a shadow in the garden, someone who had followed Helena's car all the way there, someone angry and bitter, someone they should have been _afraid_ of.


	20. Sweet

.

* * *

><p><em>19 – Sweet<em>

* * *

><p>Helena woke up early and went down to the huge gym, she started stretching, waiting for Moran to show up. The man arrived a few minutes later, and smiled widely at her.<p>

"Good morning, soldier," he greeted her.

"Someone's in a good mood," Helena said, tilting her head to the side.

"Gimme fifty, Ellie," he smiled again. Helena rolled her eyes and started doing push-ups. After that, he made her run laps around the gym and then do some sit-ups, and finally he handed her her boxing gloves. She put them on and they started fighting.

"You're better than I thought," Sebastian smirked.

"I'm going to kick your ass," she challenged him.

"We'll see about that, kiddo!"

Helena swung a punch right at his face, and he wasn't able to duck it. Then, she went back at him with a flying kick, and the man fell on the mat, breathing heavily.

"Not bad," he remarked. Helena smiled and helped him up.

They fought for a couple of hours, and Helena got better and better. She had missed the exercise, it made her feel good, it almost made her forget about her problems.

"Ok, let's call it a day," Sebastian said, taking off his boxing gloves, catching his breath.

"Alright," Helena smiled. She went upstairs to take a shower, then went back down to the dining room for lunch.

Jim and Seb were already there, sitting at the table. She joined them, sitting beside Jim, and they ate almost in complete silence. Jim was reading the paper, and Sebastian was mentally planning their next training session.

It was all so quiet and still, that for a second Helena thought she'd never left. For one magic moment, it felt like nothing had happened, no Sherlock, no Jim shooting himself, no Jim being in a coma for six months, nothing.

"Are you okay, my sweet?" Jim said, and she suddenly snapped out of her fantasies.

"Uh, yes, I'm fine," she stuttered. Jim smiled at her, looking like he wanted to say more, but he didn't say anything. Perhaps because Moran was there, or perhaps because he knew there was nothing he could say to make things better.

Helena stared blankly out the window, and she thought she saw someone there, looking in. She shook her head, and when she looked back, there was no one there.

"Jim," she said.

"Yes, love?"

"Security's guarding the place, right?"

"Of course. Why?"

"No reason."

"I can assure you no one could get inside, we're better guarded than Buckingham Palace," Sebastian smiled.

Helena nodded and resumed staring out the window. She was sure she'd seen someone… maybe it was just one of the guards? Yes, it probably was. Besides, that wasn't the right time to get paranoid.

After lunch, Sebastian left to go work a job. Helena followed Jim in the living room, and they sat on the couch. The woman was slowly sipping her gin and tonic, while Jim read yet another paper.

"Jim," she said. The man looked up at her. "Do you really think Sherlock is alive?"

"I do believe that, yes," he said nonchalantly.

"But-"

"Honey, don't make the mistake of underestimating that man."

"They buried him!" Helena found herself yelling. "You just can't let this go, can you?"

"He's alive, Helena. I know it."

"You're insane," she said, and regretted it immediately. Jim gave her a bitter smirk, and resumed reading his paper.

"No," she complained, ripping the paper away from his hands. "We're talking about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. You're just jealous, doll," he said calmly. Helena shot him a dirty look, and was about to yell some insult, but Jim put a finger on her mouth. "You don't have to be jealous, my love. You know you're the most important thing to me, right?"

"No, actually, I don't," she remarked bitterly.

"Sherlock is just a _toy_," Jim smiled. "You, on the other hand, are the best distraction I could have hoped for. I couldn't live without you," he said. Helena's heart skipped a beat in hearing those words.

"Why do you need to be distracted, Jim?" she asked, though she knew the answer very well. It was the same answer she would have given to that same question.

"Ah, well. Because life is so boring, can't you see? Everything's so _ordinary! _You, on the other hand, I never know what to expect from you! You're exciting!" he cheered, smiling and caressing Helena's face. She weakly smiled back, and he tilted his head to the side. "You still don't believe me?"

"No, I do, it's just…"

"What is it, love?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's nothing. I'm okay now," she lied, and avoided asking the question that burnt in her mind. _Isn't Sherlock exciting, too?_

"Okay then," he smiled, and kissed her. Helena gave in to the kiss but Jim pulled away.

"I have to work," he calmly stated, and left her there alone. Helena had to go back to London to get the rest of her stuff, so she just sighed and waited for the black limousine to come pick her up.

When they got to London, she got out of the car and quickly headed into her apartment. She packed the rest of her belongings, including all of her guns in the secret room behind the fireplace, and she called the driver to come help her with the bags. The driver wasn't answering his phone, so she looked out the window to see if the car was still there.

It wasn't.

Where did he go? He was supposed to wait there for her. Maybe he went to grab a cup of coffee, she thought. She couldn't have been more wrong.

Suddenly, she heard the door opening, and Mycroft Holmes waltzed in, followed by three huge bodyguards and doctor John Watson.

Helena didn't even have the time to look surprised, the bodyguards grabbed her by the arms and cuffed her immediately.

"What the fuck is this?" she asked, nearly yelling.

"You're under arrest, my dear," the elder Holmes explained, with a complacent smile.

* * *

><p><em>Hey there guys! What do you think so far? I'd love to hear from you! xoxo<em>


	21. Harder

.

* * *

><p><em>20 – Harder<em>

* * *

><p>When Jim woke up, he noticed Helena wasn't there yet. He expected her to be home by then, but he figured she probably slept in London and was going to be back for lunch.<p>

She wasn't back for lunch, and she wasn't back for dinner.

"Sebastian, have you heard from Helena?" he asked during dinner.

"No, sir, I haven't."

"I've been calling her, but she won't answer her bloody phone," he complained. "Go check on her, would you?"

"Of course, sir," Sebastian said, and left the table without finishing his meal.

He got into his car and drove to London, all the way to Helena's apartment. The place looked like a bomb had exploded in it. Helena's bags were on the floor, empty. The contents were scattered across the living room. Someone had knocked over an ashtray, and the couch had been flipped over. Sebastian didn't hesitate a second more, and called his boss.

"What?" Jim answered, and he sounded worried.

"She's not here, and the place is trashed, sir," he explained, with a hint of panic in his voice.

"They got to her," Jim simply said. "Sebastian, you need to—"

"I'm on it, sir," he interrupted him. "I'll go get her."

"And do me a favor, kill Mycroft Holmes."

"Consider it done." Sebastian said, and hung up. He looked around for the last time, then left the apartment and got back in his car. If they had her, there's only one place they could have taken her: the same place where they had taken James when Mycroft got to him.

* * *

><p>Helena recognized the place, she'd been the before, to torture Jim. The only difference was that now she was the one tied up to a chair. Some big bald guy was beating her up, but good. The chair got knocked over and she fell to the floor, nearly breaking her arm. He lifted the chair up and she was vertical again. She knew why she was there: they didn't have enough information to get Jim, and they thought she'd tell them what they wanted to know.<p>

Well, they were wrong.

"Feeling chatty?" the bald guy asked, a mean smirk on his face.

"Go fuck yourself," she said, spitting out some blood.

The guy resumed beating her up, and soon enough she was covered in blood, barely able to talk. Her head felt dizzy, she was about to faint when Mycroft stepped inside the room. The bald guy left them alone, and Mycroft dragged a chair in front of her and sat down.

"Helena," he smiled. "You're going to talk, at some point…"

"Screw you," she spat out.

"You're going to tell me everything I want to know," he said. "And you know why?"

"Why?" she challenged him.

"Because, no one is coming to rescue you. He doesn't care about you, at all. To him, you're just another toy."

"And how would you know?" she said. Her head was spinning more and more.

"He's a psychopath, Helena. Psychopaths aren't able to love anyone."

Helena laughed. "You Holmes boys, I swear. You know what he calls you?" she asked. Mycroft tilted his head to the side. "The ice-man," she pointed at him with a finger and smiled. "And the virgin."

"Yes, most amusing," Mycroft commented with a bitter smile.

"He's going to burn you, Holmes, just like he burnt your precious little brother!" she laughed again, madness shining in her eyes.

"Do you honestly think we won't be able to make you talk, kid?"

"Oh, you can try," she smirked. "You can do whatever you want with me. I won't say a word!"

"Very well," he said, and left the room. The bald guy came back, and started slapping her. She wasn't going to be able to take much more, but she tried to resist as long as she could.

From time to time, the bald guy asked her questions, and she spat blood in his face as an answer. Then, he hit her on the side of her face so hard that the chair got knocked over once again, and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Two minutes later, someone was throwing ice cold water at her face, and she regained consciousness. She tried to open her eyes, and for a second she forgot where she was. So when did open them, she was surprised to see Mycroft looking at her. It took her a few seconds to realize what had happened, and what was still happening.

"Did you sleep well, my dear?" Mycroft smiled.

"Oh, screw you," she replied, her voice barely audible.

"How innovative of you," Mycroft smiled again.

"If you think I'm going to tell you anything…"

"I think you will, at some point. There's no limit to the time I can keep you here, you know? The sooner you talk, the sooner you walk out of here."

"Then I'm never leaving," she said. Mycroft smiled bitterly, and left the room once again. The beating resumed, but this time it was a different guy, thinner, and with plenty of hair.

Every once in a while, Mycroft would walk in the room and ask her to talk, and she'd tell him to kindly fuck off. Then, Mycroft stopped coming in, and the guy almost beat her to death.

For hours he beat her, and for hours she refused to talk. Then, she heard noises coming from outside the room. Gunshots?  
>The guy stopped hitting her and listened, just as the door to the cell swung open and Sebastian Moran walked in.<p>

Helena let her head fall back with a smile on her face. Sebastian blew the guy's brains out, then proceeded to untie her from the chair.

"Can you walk?" he asked. She tried, but she fell like deadweight in his arms. He carried her out, and while they left the building she noticed at least half a dozen dead bodies. Mycroft wasn't one of them, though.

"Holmes wasn't here," Sebastian explained to her. Her head was spinning out of control, and she fainted again. He carried her to his car, and lay her down on the backseat.

When she regained consciousness, they were already at the mansion. Jim met them at the door, and took her from Sebastian's arms and into his own.

"Love? Are you okay?" he asked, as Helena blinked frantically, trying to see straight. The woman mumbled something incoherent, and Jim carried her to the guest room, where the doctor was waiting for them. He lay her down on the bed, and watched as the doc checked on her. He gave her a few stitches on the side of her face, and on her arms, and said her right arm was fractured.

When the doctor was done putting her back together, Jim took her in his arms again and carried her upstairs to their bedroom. He put her down on the bed and covered her with the sheets.

"Love?" he asked again.

"Jim," she sighed, exhausted and sore. "Jim, I didn't tell them anything," she said then, panicking.

"I know, babe, I know," he reassured her, stroking her hair.

He held her close to his heart all night, and wasn't able to sleep. She, on the other hand, slept, but not very well. When dawn broke, Helena woke up. Jim looked down at her and smiled weakly, too exhausted to fake a proper smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I didn't tell them anything," Helena repeated weakly.

"I know that," he replied, wondering why she kept saying that. "But how are you feeling, love?"

"I'll be okay," she answered. Actually, her head was still spinning, and her arm hurt like hell. The stitches itched like hell, and her legs felt like they were jelly.

"How the hell did they—"

"It was Watson," she said. She'd overheard Mycroft saying something to one of the bodyguards. "He followed me around for weeks…"

"Well, you're a fugitive now. We can't stay here," Jim commented.

"And where should we go?"

"You and Sebastian will go to my place in the south of Italy, and-"

"Sebastian and I?" she asked. "You're not coming?"

"No, honey, no. I can't leave now."

"I was almost beaten to death, and you can't spare the time to stay with me?" she yelled, sitting up on the bed. Her head was spinning out of control, and she fell back on the bed.

"I'll come too, of course I'll come!" he defended himself. "Just not right now."

Helena didn't answer, she just rolled over and gave her back to him. Her arm hurt like hell in doing that, but she didn't care. She was just so angry, how could he leave her alone at a time like that? What if Mycroft was right, and Jim didn't care at all about her?  
>No. That wasn't true. She was just dizzy because of the painkillers. She didn't actually believe that, of course not. Jim had made it very clear how much he cared about her, she shouldn't have been doubting him.<p>

"I'll pack a bag for you," he said then, put his pants on and stood up. Helena watched as he packed, and almost started crying at the thought of being alone with Sebastian, _again_.

* * *

><p>.<p> 


	22. Helpless

.

* * *

><p><em>21 – Helpless<em>

* * *

><p>Helena and Sebastian were on Jim's private jet, on their way to Sicily. Helena spent all the flight looking out the window, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed in a hard line.<p>

"More Martini, Ellie?" asked Sebastian, holding up a bottle.

"Yes," she dryly answered. The man poured her a glass of white Martini, and stared at her.

"You're still angry," he said. Helena held up the only hand she could move to shut him up. "I get it, you know, but James is going to come around at some point," he said, ignoring her gesture.

"You're always defending him," she observed. "Always sucking up to him."

"I'm not sucking up to him," Sebastian replied. "I'm just saying-"

"I don't wanna hear it, Sebastian."

"He's worried about you, you know that."

"He's worried about getting caught," she replied.

"Helena, you're being unfair."

"Just… shut up, okay?" she hissed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Sebastian fell silent, and Helena resumed staring out the window. Neither of them said another word for the rest of the flight. They landed at dusk in front of a villa by the sea. Helena had been there before, with Jim, but Sebastian hadn't. She led the way and pointed him to the guest room, then went up the stairs and into the master bedroom. She dropped her bag on the floor and sat down on the bed, her head in her hands.

She decided she wasn't going to sit there all night sulking, so she went downstairs to Sebastian.

"You hungry?" she asked him. The man looked up from his suitcase and smiled.

"I am, actually."

"I'll cook," she replied cheerfully. She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for something to cook.

"You can cook?" Sebastian asked, leaning on the stove.

"Of course," she answered.

"Never took you for the type."

"I used to cook for Jim all the time," she said nonchalantly. "We'd come here, all by ourselves… we'd go to the beach at night, and swim in the darkness. Jim loves swimming, did you know that? He loves it. And he loves this place."

"I didn't know," Sebastian said.

"It was very romantic," she sighed. "We were younger and… oh, never mind. What should I cook then? I can make you pasta! We're in Italy after all."

"Pasta sounds perfect," Sebastian smiled.

Helena cooked, then they chit-chatted while eating the delicious meal.

"I gotta ask, Seb…" she said.

"What?"

"Don't you have anyone? A girlfriend?"

"I'm not a big fan of commitment," he answered.

"And you're also in love with James, so…"

"I'm not," he chuckled. "Don't be silly."

Helena laughed with him, and the continued eating. When they were finished, Sebastian did the dishes, then they sat outside in the veranda, and drank a glass of wine. Helena was all smiles and giggles on the outside, but Sebastian could tell she was still bitter. When they were about to go to bed, Sebastian couldn't help but say something.

"You should really let this go, kiddo. Being angry with him is no use, you know that," he said.

"I'm only going to say this once, Sebastian: mind your own business."

"Goodnight, Ellie," he sighed.

"Goodnight," she dryly answered, closing the door behind her.

Helena undressed and quickly got into the bed, curled up and tried to sleep. She couldn't.

* * *

><p>Three weeks passed, and still no word from Jim. They kept training, but they rarely talked, and when they did it was only to decide what to have for dinner or to insult each other. Helena began to get impatient, and Sebastian noticed. She couldn't stand to be left there alone with him. That morning she made waffles, and Sebastian started to realize that the more delicious the meal, the more in pain she was.<p>

"He's not coming, is he?" she asked, casually munching on a mouthful of waffles.

"Of course he's coming, kiddo."

"You know, you really shouldn't call me kiddo," she complained. "What are you, 35?"

"36," Sebastian replied.

"You're only 7 years older than me, then. I'm not a kid."

"You kind of are, actually," he smirked.

"Oh shut up, _grandpa_."

"He's coming, I promise," he said then.

"And how would you know?"

"James keeps his promises," Sebastian simply stated.

With that, they cleaned up and went to the beach to exercise. Helena had regained full mobility on her fractured arm, and was quickly getting back to her old, deadly, self. Sebastian would go home with a black eye and a few bruised ribs that day.

Helena couldn't sleep at all that night. She'd been sleeping very little since they got there, but it didn't bother her much. She was used to it. At around four in the morning, she heard noises downstairs and dragged her tired self downstairs to see what was going on. She hid behind a wall, and saw Sebastian in the kitchen, on the phone.

"No, sir, she's doing okay. She cooks," he said. Helena immediately understood who he was talking to. "Oh, really? I thought that was good and—oh, of course, sir," he mumbled. "And how long will that take, sir?" he asked. There was a long pause, Helena could hear Jim screaming, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. "I didn't mean to—sure, don't worry… okay, yes. And sir? Please, be here soon. I don't know how much longer she—yes, of course, sir. Goodnight," he said then, and hung up. Helena quickly made her way back upstairs, and collapsed on the bed.

So Jim _was_ in touch. How could Sebastian not tell her that? Why were they keeping secrets from her? If Jim wanted to make angrier, well, he'd just succeeded.


	23. Longer

.

* * *

><p><em>22 – Longer<em>

* * *

><p>Helena woke up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat. She caught her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.<p>

Her nightmare were always the same: Jim had never woken up. She was still stuck at the mansion, and she cried on Jim's chest. When she woke up, for a few seconds it all seemed so real…

Then she remembered. He had woken up wake up, and he was a selfish dick.

She went downstairs to get some water, and found Sebastian in the kitchen, smoking in the darkness.

"What are you doing up?" he asked.

"I had a nightmare," she simply answered. That conversation reminded her of many others they used to have before Jim woke up from the coma.

"I'm sorry," he answered, knitting his brows. Helena drank some water and went back upstairs, but Sebastian followed her. "Helena, can we talk?" he asked.

"No. Go away," she answered bitterly, and slammed the door of the bedroom in his face.

"Ellie, open up!"

"I don't feel like talking, Seb," she said, opening the door.

"I do," he smirked. Helena let him in, and they sat on the bed. "I don't like keeping things from you," he started out. "So I'm just gonna be honest now. Jim has been in touch," he said. Helena nodded.

"I already knew that," she said.

"You did?"

"I heard you talking on the phone with him the other night…"

"Oh," he said, knitting his brows. "And here I thought I was inconspicuous. Well, anyway, he said he fixed everything."

"Did he now?"

"Yes. The jet is coming to pick us up tomorrow, and we're going back to London."

"I told you he wouldn't come," she sighed.

"But—"

"I told you," she repeated, and it sounded a lot like a "screw you".

Sebastian bit his bottom lip, trying not to scream at her. God knows that always led to Helena punching him.

"I'll pack," she said then, and with that Sebastian left the room. He knew there was nothing he could say to change Helena's mind at that point.

The jet was there the next day, and they silently got on it. Helena drank wine and gave her back to Sebastian, who cleaned his gun, something that never failed to calm him down.

They arrived in London in the late afternoon, landed a few miles away from the mansion. A car picked them up and took them there, and Helena immediately went looking for Jim, leaving Sebastian alone with the bags to carry upstairs.

Jim was in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.

"Are you okay?" Helena asked, without even greeting him. Jim looked up at her and gave a weak smile.

"Just a headache, nothing to worry about," he said. "I missed you," he added then, and Helena thought he must have been lying. The man stood up and approached her, but she backed away.

"Sometimes I just wish you'd talk to me," she said. "The way you talk to Sebastian, for instance."

"I don't talk to Sebastian that much," he smiled.

"He's the person you go to when you have a problem. Not me. Him."

"I also go to him when we're out of milk, would you rather I went to you?"

"Don't screw with me, James!" she yelled. "I want to know what's going on!"

"I took care of everything," he said calmly. "You don't have to worry about Mycroft Holmes anymore."

"Is he dead?"

"No, he's very much alive," he said. "But he won't bother you anymore, I promise."

"Alright. What's that?" she asked, noticing only then a little plastic bracelet around his right wrist.

"Oh, nothing," Jim shrugged, and tore it apart. He put it in his pocket and smiled.

"Were you in the hospital?" she asked. Jim's smile fell, and he rolled his eyes.

"Okay, yes, I was. Just a routine check up," he explained, before Helena could panic. "I just… I've been having these headaches, so…"

"And you didn't tell me, of course. I bet Sebastian knew," she snorted.

"Helena-"

"I'm going to bed," she interrupted him, and started to undress. The man observed her as she slid under the sheets of the bed, then left the room.

Helena woke up early, and Jim wasn't next to her. She thought he might have slept in another room, and went downstairs for breakfast. Sebastian was in the kitchen, making coffee. She got a cup and went into the living room, looking for Jim. As angry as she was, she just wanted to be with him at that moment. The man had a way of making her anger disappear with one quick smirk.

Jim was on the couch, reading the paper.

"Did you sleep?" she asked.

"Not really," he smiled. "You?"

"Like a baby," she lied, with a smirk. Jim saw right through her, and gestured for her to sit next to him. She did, and he put an arm around her, pulling her in for a kiss.

"You said you wanted to know everything, right?" he asked then.

"Yes?"

"Then there's something I have to tell you, but you won't like it…"

"Shoot," she said, worried.

"I found him," he stated. Helena gave him a quizzical look. "Sherlock," he explained.

"What?" she said, her voice shaky.

"He's in London. I had one of my guys follow Johnny Boy around – he's so boring, you wouldn't believe – and pretty soon, well, Sherlock showed up. He has a beard and dresses like a homeless person, but it's him, it's definitely him. Look," he said, and handed her his phone. Helena took it, and looked at the display. There was a picture of a man, and yes, it was definitely Sherlock. She'd recognize those cheekbones everywhere.

"So what now?" she asked. "Do we… kill him?" she ventured.

"Don't be obvious," he sighed. "We're going to wait for him to make a move; he's bound to, at some point."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Let's just say I know how to draw him out," Jim smirked evilly. "I have a plan."

Helena didn't say anything for a long time, and Jim went back to his paper. Helena sighed loudly. He was alive, then. That changed things.

But why wasn't he going after them, then? Maybe he had a plan, too? And what about John and Mycroft, how come he hadn't contacted them? Of course, Sherlock was never sentimental, but still…

Jim suddenly cringed in pain, and held his head in his hands. The paper fell to the floor and Helena turned to look at him immediately.

"Love? What's wrong?" she asked frantically.

"My head…" Jim mumbled. She moved to stroke his hair, but the man fell flat on the floor, shaking like he was having an epileptic crisis.

"Jim!" she cried out. Sebastian ran into the room and called a doctor instantly.


	24. Forever

.

* * *

><p><em>23 – Forever<em>

* * *

><p>The private clinic was shiny and bright and alarmingly green. Helena and Sebastian sat in a big lounge; there were a bunch of other people scattered across the room, and nurses coming in and out of it, updating them. Nothing had come to update them, not yet. Finally, the door opened and a doctor came in, his expression tense and worried.<p>

"We were able to stop the bleeding in his brain," he explained, and Helena shook with fear. "We won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up, though."

"Can we see him?" Sebastian asked, thinking that was probably what Helena wanted to do. She hadn't spoken a single word since they got there.

"Of course," the doctor answered, and led them to Jim's room, at the end of a long corridor. Helena sat on a chair next to the bed, and the doctor left. Sebastian leaned on a wall, and they stayed there like that for hours, not saying a word, until finally Jim started to regain consciousness. A nurse came in immediately, and the doctor wasthere in a minute. He checked his vitals and pointed a light in his eyes to check the reflexes, then said everything looked good.

"Mr. Moriarty?" he asked then, and Jim knitted his brows. "Can you talk?"

Jim tried to talk. He tried so hard his head hurt, but nothing came out. He tried again, desperate to say something, anything, and finally he was able to mumble a very confused "yes".  
>Helena started crying. The doctor explained Jim would need to be trained to regain his full ability to speak and move, he'd need physical therapy and stuff like that.<p>

Someone had to stay with him at all times and make him talk as much as they could.

"Thanks, doc," said Sebastian, and the doctor gave a weak smile before leaving the room.

"Hel," Jim spat out, unable to say the rest of her name. Helena wiped away the tears from her face, and approached the bed. "So… sor…"

"Sorry?" she ventured. Jim nodded. "You have nothing to be sorry about, my love," she reassured him.

They took him home the next day. Helena did nothing but stay by his side and talk to him. She tried to get him to talk, like the doctor said.

That afternoon Sebastian helped her put him in the wheelchair, and she took him to the lake. It was just outside the gates of the mansion. They used to take long walks there when they first got together, just talking and smiling and being in love.

"We used to come here all the time," she said, and Jim nodded weakly. "Do you remember that? Before Sherlock, before the coma, before everything?"

"Y-yes," Jim mumbled. "I… I…"

"What?" she asked, kneeling down in front of the wheelchair, her hands on Jim's legs. The man leaned in and kissed her gently. "I love you too," she said. It had only been two days, but she was getting used to his new way of communicating. Besides, they never really needed many words to understand each other.

"You're going to be just fine, my darling. And as soon as you get better, we're going to find Sherlock," she said soothingly. "And we're going to skin him alive. Deal?"

"D-deal," Jim smiled weakly.

"Good. Then I'll start working again, and everything will go back to normal, and we'll have our own little happily ever after."

"Y-yes," the man spat out.

"Now come on, let's get you home."

There were so many things Jim wanted to say, but he couldn't. He'd have to wait, and someday he'll tell her everything. He felt so ashamed, too. He never wanted her to see him like that, but what other choice did he have? He didn't feel like himself. No bitter smirks and no evil smiles, no snarky remarks and witty comebacks. Nothing. What was he to do?

It would be days before he could pronounce a full word, weeks before he could put together a sentence. But Helena didn't give up, she stood by his side every moment of every day, and in the end he was better, he was almost himself again. He could also walk a little, at the end of the month. That made him feel better about himself, but there was still some things that were bugging him.

For example, he couldn't make love to her. They'd tried, but Jim couldn't move properly yet, and the doctor said he shouldn't stress his muscles. They'd have to wait some more, but Jim hated waiting. He was never patient, so why should he be now?

Helena wasn't patient either, but she couldn't do anything but wait at that time.

She cried a lot lately, mostly when Jim was asleep. Sebastian knew, because she used to go cry in the bathroom, which was right next to his bedroom. He never said anything; what _could_ he say, anyway? That night Helena went downstairs to get a glass of water, and found Sebastian there, eating a sandwich.

"Why are you eating in the middle of the night?" she asked, wiping the last tears from her eyes.

"I just got back from a job, and I was hungry. You can't sleep?"

"I was thirsty," she lied. "Jim asked for you today."

"He did?"

"Yes. He said he wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"He didn't say."

"I see," Sebastian nodded. "So how is he? Haven't seen him in two days…"

"He's… he's good. He gave me the finger today," Helena proudly said.

"That's great," Sebastian cheered. "And how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me, kiddo," he said firmly.

"I'm fine, Seb. You, on the other hand, should get some sleep."

"You too."

"Goodnight, then," she concluded, and ran up the stairs, back to the bedroom. Jim was sleeping soundly, and she crawled back into bed, careful not to wake him up.  
>Morning came, and she waited for Jim's alarm to go off. Jim turned it off, and turned to her. He wasn't surprised to see she was already awake, since she was every morning.<p>

"Good morning, beautiful," he said.

"Hey there," she smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Definitely. You?"

"Me too," she lied, with a perfect smile. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Oh, honey. I have _big_ plans today."


	25. Falling

.

* * *

><p><em>24 – Falling<em>

* * *

><p>Helena observed quietly as Jim explained his plan to Sebastian and her. The man was all giggles and evil smiles, and Helena felt relieved to see him back to his old self again.<p>

"Boss, shouldn't we wait for you to be 100% before doing anything?" Sebastian asked. Jim turned to him, his features tense and angry.

"I'm fine, Sebastian. Just do as I say!"

"Alright, alright," the man said, shaking his head dismissively.

"I'm not sure I can do this, Jim," Helena sighed.

"Why not?" Jim asked, snorting.

"I just don't want to," she spat out, and the man gave her a dirty look. Helena left the room in a hurry, and locked herself in the bedroom.

She didn't want to do anything to Sherlock. Not again. She couldn't stand to be Jim's second choice one more time. The man only cared about getting Sherlock yet again, and she wouldn't stand for that, not in a million years. She wasn't going to help him.  
>There was a knock on the door, then Jim's voice demanded for her to open up. She did, and Jim stood there, madness deep in his eyes, his smile almost a snarl.<p>

"You will do as I tell you, Helena," he hissed.

"No, I won't," she calmly stated. The man scared her, but she wouldn't let it show.

"Why not?"

"I thought it was over!" she yelled. "I thought he was dead, and after all we've been through I thought things would finally go back to normal! But of course he's not dead, and of course you care about him more than you care about me!"

"That's not true," he growled. "How could you say that?"

"It's the bloody truth, James, and you know it!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "I can't stand this anymore. I should have never come back here!"

"Don't say that," he said, suddenly calm. He features relaxed into a sad smile. "I love you, honey."

"Stop saying that!" she yelled once again. "It's not true!"

With that, she left the room and ran downstairs. Jim didn't follow her. She ran outside into the garden, and sat down on a bench, smoking nervously. Sebastian got to her after a few minutes, and he sat beside her.

"Is there anything I can do, kiddo?"

"Leave me alone."

"You know, your best chance at getting Jim back is to follow the plan."

"I know that. See? One way or the other, he always wins. You know what's scary? He could do anything he wants to me, and I'd still stand by his side. But not this time."

"You can't leave again, Ellie. That would kill him."

"And why should I care about that?"

"Helena…"

"And what about me, huh? I'm already dead, Sebastian. I died when he shot himself. I don't see anyone giving a shit about _that_."

"So what, you're just gonna up and leave?"

"Maybe I will."

"You'd have a bullet in your head before you walk out of the house."

"Poetic, isn't it?"

"No, it's not. It's suicidal."

"Leave me alone, Sebastian."

"Whatever you say," he sighed, and left.

Helena threw away her cigarette and held her head in her hands. Sebastian was absolutely right, she couldn't leave. Then what was she supposed to do? Just swallow the rage and the bitterness and play along with Jim's little game? She couldn't do that, no.

She went back inside the house and found Jim.

"Okay, fine, I'm in," she said to him. The man smiled.

"Great, then you should go to London with Sebastian," he smirked, and Helena nodded. She left with Sebastian and they got to London in the middle of the night. He dropped her off at her apartment, and drove away into the night.

As soon as she was alone and safe inside her flat, she took her phone and sent out a text.

"_We need to talk. Come find me. –H"_

Then, she went into her bedroom and tried to sleep. She couldn't. She was going to betray the man she loved. She had a perfect plan, and Jim would never even suspect anything, because he was too used to her doing everything he said, he was so sure of her loyalty he'd never see this coming.

Helena cried that night, at the thought of doing that. She loved James to death, but she really couldn't take anymore. That was the only way to rid herself of him, and she would go through with her plan no matter what.

At some point she fell asleep, and had nightmares all night long. When she woke up, she felt something wasn't right, so she looked for the gun she kept under the pillow. It was gone. She slowly opened her eyes and saw a dark figure towering over her at the foot of the bed. She gasped in surprise, and sat up. She blinked a few times, to clear her vision, and finally recognized the man.

"You scared me," she sighed, getting out of bed. The man's stare lingered on her exposed body as she covered herself with a nightgown. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"No use in hiding anymore. You knew I'm alive," the man said, and his baritone sent shivers down her spine. She looked at him, and for a second she felt like she'd… _missed_ him.

"Sherlock, we need to talk."

"You said so in your text. What about?"

"I need coffee first," she smiled, and he followed her into the kitchen. Helena made coffee and Sherlock observed her closely as usual.

"I have to ask," she said. "How are you alive?"

"A magician never reveals his tricks," the man said with a complacent smirk.

"Fair enough," she smiled, and drank some coffee.

"So what is it, Helena?"

"Jim knows you're alive. He's going to kidnap John and Mrs. Hudson to draw you out."

"I figured."

"He wanted me to play my part—"

"But you won't," the man interrupted her.

"You're perspicacious as usual," she smiled again. "I want to help you help me."

"Meaning?"

"Jim must _die_."


	26. Nothing

.

* * *

><p><em>25 – Nothing<em>

* * *

><p>Sherlock looked taken aback for a few seconds. He knew Helena didn't want to help Jim, things must have been bad between them, but killing him? That sounded a little too dramatic… not that he minded.<p>

"You trust me," Helena said, looking surprised. "I thought you'd walk right out the door."

"I know you a little better now. Also, John wasn't the only one spying on you. You look like you're about to break down," he said, and a little kind smile spread across his face. Helena couldn't admit to herself how much she'd missed that smile.

"I'm okay," she said. "Let's talk business, shall we?"

"When is he going to take John and Mrs. Hudson?"

"Tomorrow, at noon."

"We'll let him. He needs to think he has everything under control."

"So what's your big plan? Just blast in there guns blazing and save them?"

"Pretty much."

"I can work with that," she smiled. She knew she could take Sebastian in a fight, she'd done it so many time when they were training… and the other guards wouldn't be a match for her, either. There was one thing she couldn't do, though. "But I… you have to do it," she said.

"Do what?"

"Kill him."

"I can't," he said. "That would be too easy."

"You do realize that if you don't, he'll come after you?"

"Let him," the man smirked. "Helena, if you really want him dead, you're going to have to do it yourself."

Helena fell silent. Could she really do that? Of course not. It took all of her courage not the break down crying at the mere thought of it.

"We'll figure something out," she said. "And do me a favor, lose the beard."

"You don't like it?" he asked, looking a little hurt. Helena shook her head and smiled. "Alright then. Do you have a razor?"

"There's one in the bathroom," she said, and pointed him to the bathroom. Sherlock smiled complacently and left the room. She sipped her coffee slowly, trying to figure out her next move. They had to be careful, Jim could have been watching them.

Sherlock came back in a few minutes, without the beard. Helena smiled.

"There you are," she said. "Looking good, Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you," he smiled.

When she was done with her coffee, she opened a bottle of wine. It was empty in half a hour. Sherlock put his glass down on the coffee table and smiled at the woman, who was still drinking. Helena looked up at him and smirked. His eyes were bright and shiny, and she felt like she'd never really seen them before.

"Your eyes are pretty," she said.

"You're drunk already?"

"Of course not!"

"Well thank you, then. Yours are pretty, too," he humored her.

"Your cheekbones are pretty, too," she smiled.

"Okay, why don't we get you some more coffee?" he chuckled, and went to the kitchen to make some. Helena trailed after him and leaned on the kitchen counter, staring at him intently.

"We should open another bottle instead!" she suggested, and Sherlock shook his head.

"It's ten in the morning," he said.

"So what? It's 6 pm somewhere," she smiled, and approached him slowly. "You know, there's something else we could do," she purred.

"Helena—" he started, but was cut off by her kissing him. Not a chaste little kiss, like she used to kiss him, a full on French kiss. Sherlock couldn't help but respond to it, and held her tightly in his arms. But suddenly he pulled away, and she looked up at him, confused.

"I can't," he said.

"Why not?"

"There was always something off when we kissed, you know?" he said. "Now I think I know what it is. When I kiss you, I feel like you might crumble under my touch. Like you're about to break in a million pieces."

"I've already crumbled, Sherlock. I'm already in a million pieces," she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Would you like me to put you back together, then?"

"Would you do that?" she whispered.

Sherlock leaned in and kissed her. She was taken aback, but eventually gave in. The man held her close, and she could hear the beat of his heart. Sometimes when she was with Jim she had to listen carefully for it, to remind herself that he was alive. But Sherlock's heartbeat somehow calmed her down. They kissed for a long minute, neither of them remembering they had to breathe. Finally, Helena broke the kiss, and took Sherlock's hand in hers.

"This, right here, it's a whole new mountain of stupid," she sighed.

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm in love with Jim, Sherlock," she admitted, taking a deep breath.

"I don't think you are," he said. "I think you're addicted to him, you think you need him to survive. But truth be told, you really don't."

"How would you know?"

"All your love turned into hate when he shot himself. I know what suicides do to people. Am I wrong?"

"I… I guess you're right," she said, and broke down crying.

"Oh, please don't cry," he pleaded. "I hate it when you do that."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, trying to stop. Sherlock wiped the tears from her beautiful face and she looked up at him, she wasn't crying anymore. The man leaned in and kissed her once again, a sweet little kiss on the lips, and for a second she felt like she was safe there, in Sherlock's arms.

She'd never felt safe in Jim's. She'd felt scared and broken, but never safe.

Sherlock realized that was the first time he'd seen her cry for real, and not faking it. It was heartbreaking. She looked so lost, and so broken. All his instincts were telling him to run, but he couldn't. Despite his best efforts, he just couldn't leave her. She was dangerous and unpredictable, and he loved it.

Helena poured herself another cup of coffee and drank it nervously, not sure of what was going on. Sherlock observed and smiled to himself. He had made _her_ uncomfortable, for once.

"You should get dressed," he said. "We have work to do."

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><p><em>Interesting turn of events, huh? But is it all real? We'll just have to wait and see, I guess!<em>  
><em>Thanks for all your reviewsalerts/favorites guys, I really appreciate it! Much love (: _


	27. Everything

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><p><em>26 - Everything<em>

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><p>Helena met with Sebastian the next morning, and they went to Baker Street in silence. The man would have asked her what she'd decided, but quite frankly he didn't want to know. He was sick and tired of being stuck between her and Jim, and he wouldn't clean Jim's mess one more time. This time he'd have to do it himself, if he really cared like he said.<p>

Helena looked sad that morning, he thought. She looked like someone who didn't have the strength to fight anymore.

When they slammed the door open, Mrs. Hudson jumped up in surprise but she had no time to cry out, because Sebastian put a cloth drenched in chloroform on her mouth, and she fainted in his arms.

Helena gave a weak smile in response to Sebastian's, and headed upstairs to get John. The man had a gun in his hand, and he pointed it at her as soon as she entered the room. Helena laughed.

"Whatcha gonna do, Johnny Boy?" she mocked him. "You gonna shoot me?"

The man smiled and pointed the gun at her leg, then shot her. Helena easily avoided the bullet, and in a second she had him pinned to the wall, and his gun fell to the floor. She put a cloth over his mouth too, and as much as he tried to resist, he fainted just like Mrs. Hudson.

Sebastian carried the bodies outside and dropped them in the backseat of his car, then he drove away. Helena would meet him later at an abandoned factory just outside London.

In the meantime, she went back to her apartment, and Sherlock was still there. He'd spent the night there, sleeping on the couch of course.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"As planned," she answered, smiling. Sherlock's phone went off. He'd received a text from Jim, of course, telling him to meet him at the abandoned factory if he wanted the hostages to live.

"I'll go tonight," he said. "Do you have everything you need?"

Helena showed him a duffle bag full of guns and rifles. Sherlock smiled at her.

She left in a couple of hours, and got to the factory at sunset. Mrs. Hudson and doctor Watson were tied tightly to their chairs, gagged and bruised.

Sebastian stood tall behind them, holding a shotgun. Jim sat in the back, in the darkness. He lit up when Helena arrived.

"Hello, sweetheart," he greeted her.

Helena approached him and kissed him. She hated the way he tasted, hated the way he held her in his arms. But somehow she still felt like she was hopelessly in love with him. Was that the truth, or was Sherlock right?  
>She still hadn't decided yet whether to go through with her plan or not. She'd figure something out.<p>

"Sherlock will be here soon," he said, smiling.

"He will," she answered, trying to smile back. She failed.

"Is something wrong?" the man asked.

"I'm still not sure this is a good plan," she said, and she was honest.

"It is, honey. It's a great plan!"

"Alright," she half smiled.

They waited for half a hour, then finally they heard footsteps. Sherlock appeared from the darkness and smirked. He completely overlooked Mrs. Hudson and John, and stared straight at Jim.

"Hello, handsome," Jim greeted him.

"Hi there, love," Helena said.

"Good evening, Helena," Sherlock said. "James," he added then, nodding in Jim's general direction. "And… I don't believe we've met," he said, looking over at Sebastian.

"That's Sebastian," Jim explained. Sebastian smirked at Sherlock.

"So how do we do this? I kill myself and you let them go?" Sherlock asked, more than a hint of irony in his voice.

"More or less," Jim smiled. Sebastian threw a gun at Sherlock, and the man caught it mid-air.

John shook his head frantically, screaming through the gag, as Sherlock weighed the gun in his hand.

Helena still didn't know what to do. Jim looked at her expectantly, and she turned to Sherlock. Sherlock smiled at her, his perfect kind smile. She smiled back.

"Vatican cameos!" Sherlock yelled. Jim looked confused. Helena, still smiling, pulled her gun and shot Sebastian's leg. The man fell to the floor, howling in pain.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Helena?" Jim shouted. Helena immediately turned around, a little scared. The man's eyes were black pools of madness, and she suddenly doubted her decision.

Sebastian pulled his gun and dragged himself over to John's chair, pointing the gun at his head.

Sherlock pointed the gun at Sebastian and smirked.

"You do want to keep your other leg, right?" he said.

"Don't be too sure," Sebastian snarled.

Hearing the shots, four guards came in, and Helena promptly shot them right in the head without breaking a sweat.

Sherlock looked impressed. Jim looked angry as ever.

"Helena, I don't understand—"

"On your knees, James," she demanded. "Now!"

Jim obeyed her, and got on his knees. Sebastian turned around to look at his boss, and they exchanged a meaningful look.

"Sherlock," Helena said. The man turned to her. "Take them away."

"I'm not leaving you here," he said.

"Sherlock, please," she begged, her eyes watery. The man sighed, and began to untie Mrs. Hudson. Sebastian was losing a lot of blood, and eventually he fainted.

"Helena, my love, what in the name of hell are you doing?" Jim asked, trying to remain calm. Helena pressed the gun to his forehead.

"Shut up!" she yelled. "It's my turn now, Jim. I'm going to rip your heart out and stomp all over it," she hissed.

"Why?" the man asked, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed.

"Because that's what you did to me!" she yelled again. "You will never hurt me again," she snarled. "Ever."

"You wouldn't," Jim smirked, and Helena pressed once again the gun to his forehead.

"Don't test me," she growled.

In the meantime, Sherlock had untied both John and Mrs. Hudson, and he took them outside. After a few minutes he came back, and found Helena still there, with her gun at Jim's forehead.

Jim wasn't going to let it show, but she was scaring the shit out of him.

"Go sit on the chair," Helena commanded. Jim hesitated. "Go!" she yelled.

"Okay, fine!" the man sighed, and went to sit on the chair. "Honey, you know I love this kind of sex games, but seriously, in front of Holmes?" he smirked.

"Shut up!" she yelled again. "Sit down!"

The man obeyed once again. He sat on the chair which was once occupied by John, and Helena tied him up.


	28. Trash

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><p><em>27 - Trash<em>

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><p>"You know, I'd torture you, but you'd like it," Helena said to Jim, with a sad smile. Jim smirked. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, hell no.<p>

"Helena…" Sherlock said.

"Get outta here, Holmes," she sighed.

"I told you, I'm not leaving you here."

"You're gonna have to," she said. "Go, now!"

"I'll come back for you, Helena, okay?" he said, grabbing her arm. They locked eyes for a long second, then the man left the room.

"Oh, I see how it is…" said Jim. "You fancy our dear Sherlock, don't you now?"

"I only have eyes for you," she whispered, and it was almost the truth. "That's why you're going to die."

"And then what? Live happily ever after with Sherly?"

"I just want my life back!" she yelled. "You took everything from me, and now I'm just an empty shell," she whispered.

"I gave you everything! I made you who you are today!" the man shouted.

"Exactly," she answered, tears in her bright eyes. "Can't you see? I'm just trying to fix the problem," she said.

"And what problem is that?"

"_Our_ problem. The _final_ problem, my love," she said, using his words.

"Then go ahead! Shoot me!"

"I loved you so much," she said, and broke down crying. "I gave everything for you, and you took it and you tore it to shreds!"

"I have been in love with you from the very first moment," Jim whispered. "And I still am. This, right here, makes me love you even more."

"That's because you're a sick bastard!" she yelled. "This ends today, James."

"Whatever makes you feel better, my love."

"I… I need to do this," she sobbed, pointing her gun right in the middle of his eyes.

Her hand was shaking, but she needed to be brave. She thought of everything Jim had done to her, everything he had put her through, every time he had hurt her.

Sherlock was right outside the room when he heard the gunshots. Four of them. There was a pause, then he heard another one. He decided it was time to go back in.

"Helena—" he started, but at the sight of the woman he stopped. She had fallen on her knees in front of Jim's dead body. She had shot him five times, twice to the head and three times to the heart.

She was shaking and crying, and Sherlock approached her slowly, careful not to scare her, since she still had the gun in her hand.

"Helena," he repeated. The woman didn't turn around. He knelt down beside her and took the gun from her shaking hands, then tossed it on the other side of the room.

Sebastian was slowly regaining consciousness, in the meantime. He looked over at Helena, but his sight was still dim. He could only see the blood, all over her and all over James.

"Sherlock," Helena sobbed. "It's over…"

"Yes, it is," the man answered. She buried her head in his chest and cried her heart out. It wasn't over, though. Not yet, because of course she couldn't just go on with her life now. She was in pieces once again, and it would take a lot of time for her to adjust to living without Jim.

"Call an ambulance for Sebastian," she said then, trying to regain her composure.

"Of course," Sherlock nodded, and took his phone.

He called the ambulance, then told her they'd better get out of there before it arrived. Helena nodded, but she couldn't stand straight, couldn't walk. Sherlock took her in his arms and carried her outside, and they stole Sebastian's car.  
>Once they were in Helena's apartment, he put her down on the couch and sat next to her, worried. She hadn't spoken a word since they left the factory.<p>

"Do you want anything? Some tea, maybe?" he asked. "Wine?"

"This is all your fault, you know?" she hissed, and madness shone in her green eyes. "We were happy, before you came along."

"I'm sure," he said, lowering his eyes.

"You should really get outta here, before I shoot you."

"Helena, it doesn't have to be this way," he pleaded, taking her hand in his. Helena tore her hand away.

"Of course it does," she snarled. "Leave."

"Alright," Sherlock nodded, and stood up. He hesitated, but then he left the flat.

It was over for him, Helena thought, so why should she keep him there? She didn't need company, nor she needed him. Besides, it would just be cruel to be with him, it would be too frustrating for him; he couldn't put her back together, no matter what he'd said. Nobody could.

She didn't move for what seemed like forever, then finally she reached for her gun and weighed it in her hands, entertaining the thought of taking her own life at that point.

She took the gun and tossed it on the other side of the room.

For days she didn't sleep, didn't eat, didn't even move from the couch. The only thing she did was take a shower, actually more than one per day. On the third day, she drank some coffee. On the fourth, she finally collapsed on the bed and slept. She slept for two days straight, not ever wanting to wake up.

On the sixth day, she decided to go see Sebastian.

She arrived at the hospital at noon, and asked for him. The nurse pointed her to his room, and Helena dragged her tired self there.

"Sebastian?" she asked, entering the room. The man turned around and looked at her, anger deep in his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll live," he snorted.

"When can you go home?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'll send a car for you," she said.

"You killed him," Sebastian simply said. "You really killed him."

Helena didn't answer. She sat by Sebastian's side for a few hours, until a nurse came to tell her that visiting hours were over. She stood up and grabbed her coat.

"What happens now?" the man asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I have no idea."

"We'll figure something out," Sebastian said. "But, Helena?"

"Yes?"

"I will never forgive you for this," he hissed.

"I know," she answered, and left the room.

Sebastian meant what he said. He'd never forgive her, not in a million years. He had spent most of his life working side by side with James, and now… _that stupid bitch_.

Helena went home and took yet another shower. She'd taken so many, and yet she still felt dirty. She still felt the blood on her hands, still had Jim's crushed skull in her eyes.

She tried to think of something else, but she couldn't. But that was the right ending to their story, she thought then, and wasn't it poetic?  
>They destroyed each other, and finally she did one final act of selflessness. Yes, selflessness, because James wanted to die, and she knew it. He could never survive if Sherlock were dead, he'd eventually wither and die.<p>

Helena had saved him the trouble, and the thought kind of comforted her. She had loved him with all her heart, right up until the moment he shot himself. And his final breath, Jim had finally told her the answer. He told her what the final problem was.

Of course, she'd never tell anyone, especially not Sherlock.


	29. Epilogue

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><p><em>Epilogue<em>

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><p>Helena put the phone down and smiled evilly. Everything was under control, everything was going as planned. She felt so at home, sitting in Jim's chair and at his desk, sipping his scotch. Sebastian was visibly upset, but she didn't mind. She knew he'd be at her service for as long as she needed him. He couldn't stand to leave the mansion, just like her.<p>

Somehow, sometimes, it still felt like Jim was there with them, sitting on the sofa reading his paper.

Only he wasn't.

Sometimes she screamed at night, and Sebastian had to sedate her. Sometimes she felt like she was going mad, so she'd go downstairs to the pool and tried to drown herself. Sebastian wouldn't let her, though. He watched her like a hawk, and at the first signs of madness he'd slap her and take her back to reality.

He wouldn't let her take the easy way out. She didn't deserve that, after what she'd done.

Helena tried to explain, once. Sebastian had beaten her up, and she never talked about James to him ever again.

At that moment, she was handling a double murder in France. She found she was rather good at being James, it wasn't that hard anyway, being at the center of the web.

Now she knew how each thread danced.

She smiled again as a bunch of businessmen entered her – well, Jim's – office.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

The men started yelling about money and power and other nonsense, and how without James they wouldn't be able to survive. She knew all about that, it had been two months since Jim's death, and she was still wearing his clothes to bed, or else she couldn't sleep.

"Well, gentlemen, the king is dead," she smiled. "You'll have to refer to me now."

_The end_

_?_


End file.
